


Notebook

by Winklepicker



Category: Crash Pad, Dredd (2012), Ex Machina (2015), Logan Lucky, Midnight Special, Paterson (2016), Peter Rabbit (2018), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, This Is Where I Leave You (2014)
Genre: Autofellatio, Clydeland, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, Kylux - Freeform, Light Angst, Light Bondage, M/M, Male Lactation, Marriage Proposal, Mild Blood, Mild Smut, Mpreg, Multi, Rimming, Smoking, Suckling, Techienician, benarmie, kylux adjacent, mouth feeding, perving, tattooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 22:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 20,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14798981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winklepicker/pseuds/Winklepicker
Summary: A series of brief thoughts and adventures on all things from all sorts of Kylux and adjacent places. All chapters are stand-alone vignettes.





	1. Notebook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This opening chapter is Paterson’s thoughts as he ambles back home, holding the new notebook that his Japanese visitor gifted him.

A little over 9 ounces. That’s how much this notebook weighs—weighs in the world of scales and balances.

It weighs so much more for me.

There are no words in it yet.

Each page is a clean crisp field waiting to be sown.

But.

The lines have to be straight.  
The lines have to be perfectly spaced.  
The lines have to be beautiful and complex.  
The lines have to say something.

That’s how much this notebook weighs, sitting in my pocket, blank and perfect.

Perfect and beautiful.

It waits to be marked, scarred, adorned.

And it grows heavier in its waiting.

I know that each word will lighten the load.

I know each word I sow helps carry the burden.

And I know once this notebook—which weighs a little over 9 ounces but also so much more—is full, it’ll weigh nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Atlin Merrick. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Than... ok my one phone typing finger says that’s enough... THANK YOU


	2. Cupboard

Hux has a little cupboard, in fact he has a few. Some are tall enough to stand in. Some are long enough to lie in. And one—his favourite of all—is only big enough to sit in, with knees pulled right into his chest and arms wrapped tight around himself.

His cupboards are small worlds, dark and quiet, devoid of responsibility. He doesn’t need to be a general for anyone in there. In there he is Armitage, and only that.

Dotted around the ship or hidden in his quarters, they are secret private refuges, with the highest levels of clearance. That is, just him. And the Supreme Leader. Of course.

Though he knows better these days than to come barging in when Hux is making use of his tiny sanctuaries. He knows to approach slowly before he speaks. He knows to speak in tender tones before he strokes soft leather down the door. He knows to stroke before he taps, in case his padding feet, his gentle whispers, his gloved hand weren’t heard. He’ll pull his glove off with his teeth and tip-tap-tip blunt fingernails on the cold hard durasteel.

He knows to wait until he hears his tyrannical ginger kitten either invite him in or tell him to leave or refuse to speak altogether. It’s okay. The Supreme Leader has learned patience, just for this.

He knows also the rewards of being allowed in to see the curled up form, the wide hips tapering up up to knobbled knees, tapering back down to nervous feet. Above all that, a red dandelion tuft made wild by a hundred passes of anxious fingers. And green green eyes peeking above those knees, blinking in the sudden light, inviting him in with a flutter and a wink.


	3. Knots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Techie enjoy a bit of bondage in the loooooosest of loose terms.

Techie never remembers how it all started but Matt does. Hell to the yes he does.

His eye had been caught by a silken scarf that shimmered iridescent green-blue and was as long as both of them lying end to end. That there is for my Ani, he decided.

Techie makes what Matt considers his favourite noises—his top twenty in fact are all Techie. And after Techie had stood for a good long time blinking at the silky tumble of scarf in his hands and biting his lip, he began to make a low keening sound which quickly rose to a high keening sound which then turned into the happiest of squeals.

And after peppering Matt with kisses, Techie danced. He trailed the scarf out and made it ripple in waves. He flung it up and watched it float down, a silky green-blue river in the air. And while Matt bounced on his toes beaming, Techie cackled like a happy little maniac and skipped around him with his scarf, wrapping tight his very own Matt-shaped Maypole.

That is how they found out Matt really likes to be completely at his Ani’s mercy.

The scarf is now a gift for both of them. Techie takes Matt’s hands and wraps him at the wrists. He gently pushes Matt’s hands toward his chest and then loops the scarf around his neck, slow and soft. Breathing hot on his neck, on his lips. Another leisurely loop while he nibbles Matt’s lip.

He makes his way around his sweet mountain, binding him with silk and kisses. He knows Matt can slip out as easily as he can say _bumblebat_ but that’s hardly the point. 

He knows too that each unbearably slow loop makes those delicious goose bumps rise up on Mattie’s warm milky skin, and his nipples tighten to the hardest of nubs, and that’s the least of what hardens and rises while Mattie breathes just like Techie taught him, like the good boy he is.

His body raises a map for Techie to follow—a relief of tensed muscles, of twitching skin. Techie’s tongue journeys along Matt’s roads until he finds his way home.


	4. Yoga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillip finds pretty things to look at in his new-found hobby.

Phillip was sure the guy at the front—who’d walked in like he had a stick up his arse and then demonstrated his bones were made of actual rubber—had been hired to take part in his swift demise. Surely it was unlawful to wear yoga pants like that when he had an arse like that, and said arse was pointed in his direction for the entire session.

He’d come here to distract himself from his nicotine withdrawal. He had not come here to find new and ingenious ways to hide his boner in his tiny sport shorts while doing bridge pose. 

And then there’s this guy. Perfect poses, perfect legs, fully rotating joints, torso that went on for days. Phillip bet the man could blow himself. And there went his imagination, picturing the guy bent double, bobbing his head over his own cock.   
That was not what he needed to be thinking about right now. Not when… when… really!? Wiping the sweat off his neck with a towel and knocking back a bottle of water and holy caramel fudge Sunday could he just be biting this guy’s neck already?

Phillip adjusted himself and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, thanking the vague deity he’d grown up with that he’d chosen to hide at the back of the class. He tried willing it down but then they were in downward dog and, hell. If his teeth could wander off on their own they would have sunken into the guy’s arse-cheeks by now.

By the time they were doing balances he was slavering.

 

 

Thomas shifted his weight to his right foot, bringing his left to rest high against his thigh. When he’d stopped wobbling, he raised his hands above his head, breathing in. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. 

The stifling heat of the room, the sweat dripping between his eyebrows, the twinge in his shoulder, he could acknowledge and let pass. But the sweaty wedgie he’d been harbouring the last half hour was impossible to ignore.

Not a chance he could pull it out discreetly. The curse of coming in late was being stuck out the front. Worse still, he could feel the new guy’s eyes on him the entire time—trying to emulate his excellent pose form probably. He couldn’t just reach back and pull his pants out of his arse crack. Not if he wanted to carry out his plan and ask the man out for a post-session coffee. He was stuck with this wedgie for the whole damn hour.

Thomas took advantage of their sitting twists to take a good look at this fellow. Dark hair, damp and falling in his eyes. He did not look like someone who spent an inordinate time in the sun—that made two of them—though he was peppered with dark moles. Thomas abandoned meditation, conceiving instead a way to playing connect the dots with his tongue on the man’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanations (if explanations are needed): I have a far-too-big backlog of small ideas that just aren't going to be turned into big ideas. And I can't throw away those ideas so here in this Notebook they will go, in tiny form.


	5. Mirror

Neither could remember who’s idea it had been but it was agreed they both wanted it. Wanted it a lot.

It started with the mirrored wall and Hux’s flushed sweat-damp back pressed against the cold glass, his legs splayed wide around Kylo’s waist. He panted at the ceiling, a hymn of pleasure, while Kylo rocked into him and suckled his shoulder.

“Turn around,” he’d groan-growled into Hux’s ear, half eager half reluctant to part, even for mere seconds. 

In his desperate state Hux obeyed without quip or quarrel. Only an unhappy whine when Kylo left him empty and open. He turned and braced his forearms against the glass, his breath fogging the mirror.

Kylo ran his hands up Hux’s long smooth back, took hold of his shoulders. “Imagine if this wasn’t a mirror.” He tipped his head to the side and contemplated their reflections as he pushed back in with agonising slowness.

 

The window pane had been installed in their quarters for over two months before their plan had been put into effect. The two technicians had been vetted, briefed, tested, and sworn to secrecy. Excellent wine vintages had been poured. Clothes had been shed.

Techie was better at mirroring Hux’s movements than Matt was at mirroring Kylo’s. But while their respective flame-haired loves writhed in perfect synchrony and reached for their living reflection, Matt and Kylo—conversing with their warm dark eyes—reached a wordless conclusion. And they were right. It was much better without the glass.

Matt poked his head up from where it was buried in Techie’s arse to see what had caused the sudden shudder from his sweetheart. What he saw was Kylo arch his back, a silent cry on his lips while Hux and Techie worked on him together until he could take no more. 

It was when Techie’s and Hux’s come-covered lips finally collided that did it in for Matt. And while he was in a blind haze, slowing his fist as his stomach clenched with aftershocks, Hux and Techie turned their cleaning-crew sights to him. They licked their already slick lips and dived in.


	6. Clean

Kylo Ren was a pattern noticer. And the pattern he had noticed of late was the propensity for Hux to excuse himself from his duties soon after any announcements calling for a cleaning droid. On the day he finally figured it out, other keen pattern noticers would have noticed a new pattern emerge. When a clean up was required the General would disappear, and very soon after Kylo would follow.

From behind corners and convenient pillars a very confused Kylo would watch General Hux—one of the most decorated senior officers in the First Order—shoo away droids, pull a pair of cleaning gloves out of his pocket, and set to work on whatever mess needed a good seeing to.

One does not reach the ranks of general so young as Armitage Hux and not have fine observation skills of his own. So when he realised he was being watched and a shiver ran down his spine at the thought, he formulated a plan.

The next time Kylo snuck along, imagining he was the stealthiest stealthy thing that ever stealthed, the pattern changed. He waited for Hux to whip out his gloves--a sight that had been sustaining him in the 'fresher each evening imagining those gloved fingers buried deep inside. The gloves were not whipped out. Instead Hux appraised the mess and then disappeared into the nearest storage room. But before there was time for Kylo to think, Hux reemerged. And that was when swallowing became an exercise in futility for Kylo. 

Sashaying down the corridor with a lazy swing of his hips, Hux smoothed on a pair of elbow length pink satin gloves. A tight-laced black bodice cinched him at the waist (Kylo’s knees ran weak when he realised it must have been under Hux’s uniform the entire day) and a skirt no wider than a hand-span fluffed with tulle. 

Hux dropped to his knees in the middle of the corridor, his arse raised high, and scrubbed so hard at the floor every part of him that could jiggle, did. And from Kylo’s rear vantage point, which afforded him a view of the delicate pink lace structure that _almost_ succeeded at holding Hux in, there was a lot there to jiggle.

It took several weeks for Kylo to discover the full and colourful extent of Hux’s cleaning wardrobe. And several more until he was allowed to help Hux take it off.


	7. Lonely

Thomas McGregor was not good enough. 

He hadn’t been good enough at the orphanage. He’d clean under his little finger nails, brush his hair, match his socks, tuck his shirts in, and still still still on the days when the “visitors” came, it was always someone else who got to pack their things. Someone else leaving forever in the arms of happy smiling grown ups. Someone else who was good enough. Never him. 

He never heard the staff tutting, what a shame about poor sweet little Thomas. Such a shame, such a good boy. But he ought not to try so hard.

He kept up his smile long after it stopped reaching his eyes. His little heart was big enough to be pleased for those lucky few but not quite big enough to love himself. And fingers crossed and maybe next time and you never know your luck and suddenly years had passed and he was eighteen and it was time to head out into the world on his own.

His entire life he was told he needed to chill out, take time off, stop being so uptight, undo the top button now and then, get a hobby. But they didn’t know, did they? They didn’t know how hard he had to work, the effort required just to be seen, noticed, to get things done. Still it wasn’t enough. 

There was no point relaxing, in making friends. He had a hobby; perfecting himself. Until then there was no point letting other people in. He wasn’t good enough yet, he had to try harder.

Now this?! Bannerman? His entire being was poured into his work. He’d created a department worthy of dreams, encouraged his staff to be their best selves. And this was… this… it was too much. He’d worked so hard. He was good enough this time, just this once. Even June said he was their best man didn’t she? But he wasn’t the owner’s nephew—never quite good enough.

And there was the blow that broke Thomas McGregor. Every carefully balanced card that made him him, held in place by the ephemeral glue of his self belief, collapsed and the man was replaced by a fury. A fury buried deep for the last thirty years, yet still stopped to apologise to a stuffed animal.

He spent the first night of his unemployment staring at the shadows as the sun set. He was still there when they disappeared the next morning. What he’d thought about that long long night—if he thought anything at all—he couldn’t remember.

He picked up his violin, another failure. But Schubert, Schubert wasn’t a failure so Thomas let himself pretend. He played and wondered if he’d ever be good enough for anyone. And then came a knock at the door.


	8. Mash

How Kylo found himself licking mashed tuber off Hux’s distended belly and swollen breasts then swooping up to feed his darling, he couldn’t quite recall and nor did he care. All he remembered was Hux saying, “Dinner is served”. 

After that, all that mattered was reaching every morsel his fire-crowned monarch had slopped over himself, and nourishing him and their spawn.

It started with broad swipes, flat tongue. Collecting the bulk and letting Hux suck it from his mouth while he pushed it out. And then the delicate licks, gathering every last speck and pecking at his darling’s lips until they parted and took in the nourishment with a pass of tongues and contented sighs.

[A mere 60 minutes before]

“Why isn’t it here yet?” Hux snapped as he paced back and forth. One hand stroking his stretched belly, the other in the small of his back. “They want me to starve. They’re planning a mutiny!”

Kylo winced at each sharp enunciated T. “Five minutes, my sweet battle-fox.” He curled and uncurled his fists, appraising the situation. Hux’s moods of late swung back and forth faster than a... than... something that swung back and forth really... gods he was tired.

Only ten minutes ago Hux had been horny enough to demand Kylo lie on the floor so he could grind on his face. That lasted perhaps half a minute before he ran into the ‘fresher weeping because today there’d been a crease in his jodhpurs and no one had told him.

He’d snatched the bowl of mash from the service droid on arrival and began shovelling it into his mouth with his fingers until he came back to himself, glancing up at Kylo from his stoop.

“Wha?” he garbled and broke into a slow devious smile. 

Even with grey vegetable paste all over his teeth, Kylo was damned if Hux didn’t make his blood rush south when he gave him that look.

“Like what you see?” Hux waggled an unruly eyebrow. He spun on an inelegant heel and waddled toward the bed.

Kylo cleared his throat, nodded, and tripped after him.


	9. Kneel

If he was on his knees he’d probably done something wrong. Or he’d so tired himself out—either through rage or fighting or both.

On those days, when he was so exhausted he could barely stand, he didn’t. The minute he was in the door he fell, away from the eyes of anyone who had never seen him at his weakest, most vulnerable. And certainly never seen him on his back, wanting. 

Only Hux saw. Saw him stagger in, throw the cursed helmet to the floor, shed gloves, and cowl, and anything else he had the strength for. And then he was collapsing with a bone clicking crunch to his knees, tipping forward onto Hux’s legs, resting his weight against the slighter man. 

And there he waited until Hux finished his work or his reading or his general ignoring. Sometimes he simply forgot and had to be butted like a cat. 

It was a longed-for release when he finally deigned touch. A hand on his head first, covering and caressing. Fingers, long, white, soft, combed through slowly, pulling at knots and snarls until Kylo all but melted, giving over to Hux any part of him that wasn’t already given. 

 

He was always prettiest on his knees, Kylo said so. 

Though Kylo also said he was prettiest when he was laughing unreservedly, or when he was spreadeagled on black sheets shivering and waiting, or when he was ordering the destruction of planets. In short, Kylo was not a reliable source of opinion on the matter. 

But he was right, Hux on his knees was a glorious sight. With a gloved thumb pressed against his plush lips until it pushed through, slid over sharp teeth, gripped, pinched, pulled, poked the inside of his cheek so Kylo could see it from the outside.

Hux can’t help but sway forward, eyes begging under bright bushy brows. He spends his hours looking down and demanding but his eyes beg so well when they’re peering up. Blinking prettily, fringed by pale impossible lashes. 

They keep begging long after his mouth finally opens with a soft moan, a hushed name, a deep breath. He holds it so long his pale face grows red. But he can’t tell. Not when he’s looking up at Kylo. He forgets to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tense? What is tense?


	10. Morale

_"All staff and crew. Please pay attention to your nearest holoprojector for today's morale session.  
A very sincere well done to the technicians who oversaw the repair of the water recycling system. Thanks to your fine skills and pride in your work, a quarter of the crew in the last 3 days presented to the medbay for gastroenteritis. So we-he-hell done.”_

Hux began a slow clap. Its impact was somewhat dulled in miniature hologram form. 

_"Now get back to work, all of you. And be grateful you have a job! Thank you for your attention."_

"Hux? My darling? My angel of fiery destruction and twitchy buns?"

Hux sighed. "Yes? What?"

"Do you think maybe your morale session was a little…"

Hux snapped his head in a glare.

“What?"

"...was a little demoralising?"

Hux frowned slack-mouthed at Kylo. He shook his head in confusion and shrugged.

"What with the whole sarcastic applause and blaming the techies for the jelly belly that's been going around?"

"My arse is still red raw Ren!"

“Okay.” Kylo held out his hands in surrender. "Let’s be fair, that wasn't just from being sick. You were still a little sensitive after we played with that special toy you ordered."

Hux smiled, his eyes unfocussed as he remembered, his hand subconsciously reaching between his legs. "Mmm, the A-56X Blue Moon special edition. A fine procurement for our collection.”


	11. Tattoo

“Thanks for letting me do you.”

Clyde pressed his lips together hard not to smirk at that. The pretty redhead at the tattoo parlour was new, just trained and needing practice. 

He wasn’t asking for art, just Sadie’s name on his back since he lost a bet with her. So he’d let this kid give it a shot. What could go wrong? 

Besides he wanted to hear him talk some more. There was something delicious about the guy’s accent. Clyde could almost taste it, its curls and loops and soft edges. He didn’t know whether he wanted to devour it or bathe in it. It or him? 

He shook his head clear, tried to derail this line of thought. Hard when his eyes kept focusing on slack lips mouthing numbers as the redhead filled in a form. Wondering just how much that mouth could take... nope. Just get the tattoo and go home.

“So you can sit or lie down, whichever you prefer. Personally I’d like to work on you in a horizontal position. Gives me a solid base and it let’s the muscles loosen up. Plus, if it’s taking a long time, you can take a nap.”

“Okay,” Clyde said too quickly. His mind had wandered after ‘I’d like to work on you.’ 

“Shirt off then. Oh, I’m Stensland. I should probably introduce myself before we get intimately acquainted.”

Clyde swallowed the sudden rush of spit in his mouth. He pinched his side—stop it.

“I’m Clyde.”

Stensland flashed him a soft smile while he set up his things. “I kinda guessed that. What with your name on the appointment. And on the form I just made you fill in. Oh, and your credit card.”

Clyde grunted.

“Are you nervous? Don’t be. You’ll be fine. Now, let’s get that shirt off you.”

Clyde leaned away from Stensland’s advancing fingers. “I got it. It’s... it’s...” he fumbled at his buttons with his right hand. “I got it.”

Soon Clyde was de-shirted and lying on his front trying to forget the blatant look of enthusiastic admiration Stensland had given his chest. His cheerful, “Wow. You could probably pick me up and bend me in half,” hadn’t helped at all.

“Ready? I’m just gonna stroke a little lube on you. It might be cold. I prefer this stuff, to the Vaseline. Not as greasy.”

Clyde nodded into the towel he was lying on. He didn’t want to risk speaking when everything coming out of Stensland’s mouth was sending blood straight to his cock. He was grateful not to be on his back.

Ten minutes in and Clyde couldn’t stand it anymore. Every point of contact between them sparkled under his skin. And that damned finger. 

Each time Stensland dipped his finger into the lube Clyde’s brain helpfully telegraphed the sensation right between his legs. He was so close. So close. And on the next dip he let out a moan he really hoped he’d just imagined.

“Oh,” Stensland said in a breath, quiet and quick.

And that was that for Clyde. Stensland knew and that tipped him over an edge he didn’t comprehend how he’d arrived at. He clenched every muscle to stop it but all he could do was bite his lip and try not to make another sound as he came. 

He held his breath, flushed with embarrassment and arousal. Waiting to be saved from the silence.

“I’m a pretty modern guy Clyde but you could at least take me out to dinner and a movie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea came from a recent reddit thread about unexpected arousal.


	12. Salt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny silly

“I do love you, you know.” Kylo traced his darling’s jaw with a gloved fingertip.

Hux sniffed, dabbing carefully at his nose with his monogrammed black silk handkerchief and nodded. He tipped his head back.

“Just a little more. I can’t begin to tell you how much this means to me, my sweet honey volcano.”

Hux sighed and squeezed his eyes shut.

”Kriff! You’re so good at this, you know that.” Kylo caught one last tear as it rolled down Hux’s cheek.

Hux hummed and sniffed again. “Enough?” He cracked an eye open.

Kylo raised the vial against the light. “Should be just enough for a week’s supply of my hair tonic.” He leaned in, sliding his lips against Hux’s before he traced the tracks of his tears with the tip of his tongue. “Thank you, my blazing lion.”

Hux tangled his fingers in Kylo’s dark mane and caught tight two bunches.  
“Purely selfish on my part, my darkest war angel. You know how I love your pretty beach-waves.”


	13. Suck

How Clyde found himself kneeling, with his tongue 1 and 1/4 inches deep in Thomas’s arse and his face coated in his own come started with a simple question.

“How far?”

What followed was Thomas’s answer of, “Quite far.”

And what followed _that_ was a look from Clyde that could have melted steel, a flutter in that chest Thomas liked to call his ‘happy wall’, and a growl that tried its darnedest to form the words, “Show me.” 

Clyde never demanded, but that growl did. And Thomas yes sirred him, got on hands and knees, prowled across the floor, and sent their game of Bananagrams flying with a swipe of his hand. He leaned in close and pulled at Clyde’s bottom lip with his teeth.

After a storm of flying buttons and flung away pants, Clyde watched his sweet bundle of anxiety and sass flip his legs over his head and show him just how far ‘quite far’ was. How far his silk-soft lips could slide down his own cock. And it was quite. Quite far. 

And when Thomas encouraged him to press down on his thighs, Clyde watched those pretty pink lips slide further until there was nowhere further for them to go and the tip of Thomas’s nose was tickling his own balls.

“Honey, I ain’t ever gonna see anything prettier than that my whole live long life.”

Clyde let him go and took himself in hand, pulling with quick wet strokes. He came in his cupped hand, his entire body clenched and doubled over. A deep grunt with each hot wet pulse while the stump of his left hand rubbed absentmindedly along Thomas’s cleft.

A happy moan and slurp from Thomas brought Clyde back to himself and once he caught his breath, he tipped the contents of his right hand along Thomas’s booty crevice. He parted the cheeks with his fingers, took a deep breath and dived right in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to allmannerofsomethings for “booty crevice” which made me pee my pants a little.


	14. Hop

His sweet baby bunny—that’s what Matt calls him. 

When they’ve been apart for a lifetime—what most people would call a few hours—Techie can’t wait to be back in Matt’s arms. So when he spots his big good boy, Techie is off running. Though running is a generous term. Techie hops when he's excited. He skips and trips and traipses. He bounces full tilt at his darling and leaps with arms and legs wide open to be caught and caressed. He clings like a barnacle and hums happiness into Matt’s neck. Tests his strength by bouncing his bum in the cradle of Matt’s hands.

Matt runs too. Not so fast and fleet and hoppity as Techie, but with just as much desire to be as close to his fiery delight as humanly possible in the shortest amount of time. Hence the running. But first Matt lumbers, and then trots, and then when his entire mass is caught up to his legs he’s running. Feet that tip and trip unless he concentrates like mad now hit straight and true, heading right towards Techie. Readying himself to catch his sweetheart and crush him close.


	15. Dye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Atlin on the occasion of her birthday many months ago and the prompt--"The one time Hux dyed his hair — dark or light"
> 
> Also--don't smoke kids. It's gross and it stinks and your lungs are dying.

He had his back against the filthy wall, where every sentient (and non-sentient) pissed and spat on their way in or out of Apoh Baht—dive bar, sometimes gambling house, always brothel. The dregs of the city barked and stumbled past.

His eyes were fixed on the ground three feet in front of him. Dark hair fell over his face. One leg braced against the filthy gravel, the other bent with his foot flat against the wall. He took a deep pull on his cigarra, lifted his face to the starlit sky and blew out a plume of blue smoke.

Ren knew that face. He’d been waiting to see it illuminated in the dim streetlight. See the hair fall away to make sure. It wasn’t what he’d been looking for—firebrand-bright locks, slicked back to a regulation Hux probably made up himself. Ren jogged across the thrumming street and stopped short in front of his quarry.

“You took your time.” Hux didn’t bother to look up. Only took another drag and blew it out the side of his mouth.

“You’re a hard man to find.” Ren held his hand out, fingers asking for a smoke. “This stuff’ll kill you.”

“I like the way it makes me think.”

“You can’t think on this poison.”

“Precisely.” 

They stared each other down until Hux tutted and placed his cigarra on Ren’s waiting lips, his hand lingering while Ren inhaled. He took the cigarra back. His fingers danced whisper-light down Ren’s chin, his neck, catching on his tunic. With a sigh he dropped his hand to his side. He tore his gaze from the dip in Ren’s neck and looked him in the eye.

“And now? Court-martial I suppose.”

Ren stepped in closer. He let his fingers run through the soft untamed hair, dyed almost as dark as his own. Even his eyebrows were dyed. “You’re pardoned. The Supreme Leader demands your immediate return. He wants you in command,” Ren said low, a breath away.

Hux raised red-rimmed eyes and laughed. “The Supreme Leader will as soon have me skinned alive.” He took another pull, parted his smoke-fevered lips and breathed blue curls and clouds over Ren’s face. “You might as well kill me here, Ren. Better yet, why don’t you fuck off and just tell the Supreme Wrinkle you’ve done it.”

Ren stepped closer again, inching forward to straddle Hux’s raised thigh. Close enough to cage him between his forearms resting against the wall. Closer still, pressing his chest against the general’s. 

“The Supreme Leader has no desire to kill you. Neither is ‘fucking off’ on the Supreme Leader’s agenda.” Ren slid his hands down, curled around an impossible waist, down wide hips, cupping around generous arse in trousers so tight they left little to the imagination. He rolled his hips, grinding against Hux’s thigh. His lips and teeth found hot skin. “Though he’s not averse to other forms of fucking.”

Hux took in a stuttering breath in realisation. He blew a furious snort from his nose and barraged Ren’s back with his fists.

“For future reference, Supreme Moof-Milker, there’ll be no fucking at all if you ever refer to yourself in the third person again.”


	16. Meow

“How long has he been like this?” Bea rolled up her sleeves ready for, she didn’t know what, but she was ready.

“Half and hour now. I didn’t know who else to call. I’ve tried everything.”

“Everything?”

Paterson blushed. “Every way I could think of, yeah.”

They both contemplated Thomas where he was curled up on the floor hugging a pot plant, weeping with a mad smile on his face. 

“Something must have started all this. Look at him.” Bea flapped her hands at Thomas. “He can barely make mewling kitten noises out of his emotion constricted throat. Did you two have an argument?”

“Argument? No.” Paterson worried at his lip.

They were interrupted by a heaving inhale, a pause, and then a continuation of the strangled little meeps.

“I guess... I mean I proposed. Might’ve been that.”

Thomas rubbed his cheek against the terracotta pot and purred.


	17. Itch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wee thing was prompted by [Glass_Oceans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Oceans) with “Care to give me a back scratch?” & Kylux
> 
> from [Fluff Starters](http://memesfrommenace.tumblr.com/post/132713434246/fluff-starters)

Hux had never seen a bull lean its enormous bulk against a distressed fence post, almost tipping its own body onto two legs, in order to scratch its own back.

So when he saw Kylo Ren doing almost exactly that, he had nothing so ridiculous to compare it to. All he could do was wonder what on earth the giant pain in his arse was up to.

It happened during an early briefing. Kylo pacing up and down, restless as usual, went unnoticed when he paused at a door panel and slid his back side to side against the hard edge. 

Unnoticed by everyone except Hux. (Clearly. Otherwise why are we here telling this story? Keep up.) He watched with the same detached irritation he always felt when he had to acknowledge Kylo’s existence but had nothing specific to rail against.

And again while they marched side by side with Hux explaining just how superior his latest training regime was, Kylo fell back and did a set of squats with his back rubbing up and down on the lip of a drinking fountain. Hux rolled his eyes and carried on.

In the tiny confines of Snoke’s lift, Kylo gave an exasperated growl and set off on a desperate dance to reach the middle of his back. The confines of his taut sleeves allowed no such thing to occur and he dropped his arms to his sides as dramatically as he’d begun, and slouched into a fume.

Hux watched this spectacle, still shaken from Snoke’s latest barrage. He reached his hand toward Kylo—another spectacle. His own arm rising up in a brazen mutiny. He watched his pale fingers curl and uncurl as they sat a mere inch from the fabric—the traitors. He watched as they descended slowly in claw formation—certainly not on today’s agenda—and started scratching.

Kylo jolted upright out of his stoop. The sounds that slipped from his lips were obscene and quite possibly illegal in fifty-seven star systems. He raved incoherent babble and writhed like a fury. On one particularly vigorous pass of Hux’s nails he brayed like a mule and kicked his leg.

The doors to the lift wfffted open. Lieutenant Mitaka was near bowled over as Hux and Kylo stormed out and sped away in opposite directions. He never did find out why the general’s face was redder than a kelreg’s arse and why Kylo was wiping tears from his dopily grinning face.


	18. Dentist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clydeland

If heart eyes were visible, Stensland’s would be enormous pulsing beacons of love. He grinned like a love-lorn fool and clasped his hands to his chin while each pothole the bus ran over caused him to punch himself in the neck.

The reason for this sickening and simultaneously heartwarming business was that Clyde—jostling warm and solid against him—had asked for a tissue. Except, no. What Clyde actually said was, “Could you path me a tithue, plleathe.” Because Clyde had spent a delightful afternoon at the dentist and his mouth now felt about fifty sizes too big for his head while feeling fifty sizes too small for his tongue.

As you can see, this was ridiculously adorable and Stensland was obligated by natural law to react accordingly.

“Honeybunth, plleathe. Ah think ahm dhroolin’.” Clyde dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a finger. “Am ah dhroolin’? Ith mah faithe moofin’?”

Stensland didn’t pause in his all encompassing adoration as he searched his pockets for a tissue, finding nothing. “I promise you’re not drooling. But if you feel better with something…” In a flash of inspiration he wriggled his foot out of his sandal, pulled his sock off, and waggled it at Clyde. “You want to use this?” He took a tentative sniff. “Not bad, I put new ones on this morning”

Clyde took the sock—because he’s a gentleman—wiped his chin and attempted a smile for his cockatoo-haired ginger dumpling. It felt like he was smiling with lips made of sausages. “Thath weal thweet of you, Thtensth.”

“Thtenth!” If he’d been standing, Stensland’s knees would’ve given out in delight. Instead he took back his sock and booped Clyde’s nose—boop noise included. He leaned his head on his shoulder and craned his eyes up while he dabbed at Clyde’s imaginary drool. “Say my name again, Clyde, please.”

Clyde swung his arm around Stensland’s dainty shoulders, the sleek black of his forearm crossing his chest. “Thtenthlann,” he whispered as his eyes slid shut, resting his cheek on soft bright hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thought of Clyde with a local-anaesthetic induced lisp came about after I'd been to the dentist and was amusing myself walking through the city talking to myself.


	19. Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clydeland

“Where did I come from?”

Good question, Stens. Good question.

When he fell out of a moving vehicle and asked this question to the sky above, there was no answer. No mystical voice boomed out, no celestial light beamed down in reply, there was no dream visitation.

Instead there was just Stensland, standing in the middle of the road, in the middle of the night, squinting at the stars and trying to remember a) where he came from and b) why his mouth tasted like a hobo’s boot.

His neck started to ache what with gawping up at the sky, so he sat down cross-legged in the middle of the road to ponder his own existence.

The boring answers to his question were the usual things: I came from a party of drunken frat dickheads; I came from Soft Solutions, needed a nap; I came here from Ireland, because I just didn’t have enough rain in my life.

Boring, mundane, most likely true.

But there are other possible answers. Maybe the sort of answers a soft giant of a man with one hand of flesh and blood, and one of carbon fibre and metal and silicone would give.

Those answers would be a little more like: he came from a meadow where morning mist and sunshine and dandelion seeds coalesced into magical elfin boy; he came from a faraway star, a runaway prince from space; he came after a very diligent seeing to by a very naked West Virginian with a very talented tongue.

Where he came from didn’t much matter any more.


	20. Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techienician

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by [Glass_Oceans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Oceans/pseuds/Glass_Oceans) from [this list](http://splattermemes.tumblr.com/post/166273618335/protective-sentence-starters)
> 
> “Hey. Pal. I’ve got a gun/knife/fist/weapon and I’m not afraid to use it.” & Techienician

“Can you feel it?”

The comms tech nodded, eyes fixed straight ahead, too frightened to speak.

“Do you think I’m joking now?” Techie squeezed the tech’s shoulder from behind with his wire-strong fingers.

“Mm-mm.” The comms tech shook his head.

“Good. Because one wrong move and this file is slipping through your ribs like a lightsaber through bantha butter.” Techie pressed the tip of his file harder.

“P…puh…please,” the tech sobbed.

“I’ll make this real simple for you, are you listening?”

The tech nodded like his head was about to topple off.

“I want you to apologise.”

The tech was silent a moment, a confused frown on his face. Techie jabbed the file. “I’m sorry!” he shrieked.

“What was that?”

“I’m sorry!”

“Don’t say it to me.”

The tech turned his lip-trembling face up. “I’m sorry, Matt.”

Matt’s eyes flicked between the comms tech and Techie. “Baby? I…”

“And will you be doing this again?” Techie shoved at his shoulder.

“No, sir. No, I swear. Never again. I promise.”

“You promise?”

The tech nodded again with a worrying level of vigour.

Techie let him stand a moment, the file still a present danger, his hand still clasped on the man’s shoulder, before he let him go with a small shove. “That’s better. Now get out of here, and don’t let me catch you doing that ever again.”

The tech didn’t dare look back, only gave a shamed nod to Matt and scampered down the corridor. The scowl Techie sent after him all but clapped with thunder as he tucked the file away. And as quick as a lightning flash, his scowl turned to a brilliant smile when he turned to his beloved Matt. 

“He’ll think twice before he messes with you again, Mattie.”

Matt nodded and stepped in to gather his Techie into his arms. He was so proud of his sweet ginger lion-kitten. He’d come so far from the timid, frightened creature Matt had coaxed out of a darkened server room with cake and song, a man who would not have said boo to a flea. Maybe too far.

“That was amazing, baby.” He raised himself on tippy-toes and kissed the top of Techie’s head, his nose, his mouth. “You’ll always be my brave knight.”

“I’d bite someone’s face off if they ever hurt you, Mattie,” Techie whispered against Matt’s neck, before giving him a demonstrative nibble and a lick.

Matt’s eyebrows did their best to hover right off his face. “That’s real sweet, baby, but maybe,” he leaned back to cup Techie’s face, “maybe we shouldn’t threaten bodily harm just because someone sneezes near me without covering their mouth.”


	21. Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clydeland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by [Glass_Oceans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Oceans/pseuds/Glass_Oceans) from [this list](http://ohnoarno.tumblr.com/post/166059190317/its-been-raining-for-days-looks-like-the)
> 
> rainy day prompts -draws on the foggy window-

“We really must stop meeting like this,” Stensland said, mostly joking because, no, no they mustn’t. They mustn’t stop. They should keep meeting like this again and again, over and over.

“Ha, yeah.” Clyde ducked his head, hiding his grin and his blush under a tumble of hair.

They stood in the middle of the supermarket aisle, baskets hanging off elbows, actively not looking at each other while staring blankly at shelves they weren’t really seeing because they were in fact surreptitiously looking at each other. The fools.

The first time they met was in that very same store. It was in the cereal aisle. Clyde had tripped and knocked some boxes over the floor and a stick of Irish cream and ginger rushed to help with limbs a-flapping. 

Clyde mumbled his thanks and his apologies and his getting used to controlling his new hand, before he was struck dumb by the shapeliest ass he’d seen in a good long while.

Stensland was on knees and elbows before him, butt saluting the sky, trying to reach the last box under the shelves. The fabric of his hideous shorts stretched tight while Clyde wondered why his teeth itched.

They’d introduced themselves, exchanged nods, and headed off in opposite directions. That had been twenty minutes ago.

Since then they’d passed in the fresh produce where Stensland helped him split a bunch of bananas, in the snack aisle where they discovered they both loved salt & vinegar flavours and black liquorice, and again when Stensland waxed lyrical about the joys of Mr Bubble and Clyde shared his secret for a soft and shiny mane.

Now here they were again in line at the check out. Stensland’s groceries going through much too fast for his liking while he tried to think of some way to say, _let’s get a drink_ or _hey, we should hang out_ or _can I have your number?_ or anything, really. Instead he blurted out, “Wow, it is _bucketing_ down out there,” at the exact same time the cashier droned out his total. Stensland whipped his head between Clyde and the cashier while he fumbled for his wallet to pay.

Clyde’s mind was roiling with possibilities. _Just ask for his number man,_ was one. _Wonder what it’d be like to kiss him. His lips look sooooofffft, damn,_ was another. _Invite him to the bar for crying out loud_. What he did manage to nearly whisper was, “You wanna maybe go get a pepperoni roll, I know a good place.” But that was after Stensland had stuttered an awkward, “Good laters,” and fled out the door into the pouring rain.

Clyde paid up, shucked his shoulders up, and jogged out to his car. While he waited for his heater to de-fog his windscreen he leaned his forehead on the steering wheel. He smacked his head a few times before he sat up, refusing to be angry with himself. With his sleeve he wiped at the remaining mist and was about to reverse out of his spot when he saw something in the car parked facing his.

A small white point—a finger he assumed—move through the windscreen fog in the other car. It curved down in a small arc and stopped. It came back and drew half a triangle or, no. An L. A C and an L. He switched off his engine and watched as the finger spelled out C L Y D E backwards while his own window fogged back up. 

He chewed on his bottom lip, his pulse suddenly much louder in his ears. With a happy grin spreading over his face he swiped at the mist in time to see a half-formed heart drawn around his name become a full-formed heart complete with an arrow.

Stensland was thrown out of his stupor by a bright flashing light. He stopped humming _I Don’t Want To Wait_ and wiped at his artwork. In the windscreen of the car in front of him was a heart and in the middle, D R I N K ?


	22. Tent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clydeland & Techienician

In the dark, most tents look the same. Especially when you’re half asleep, cold, and just want to snuggle back down in your sweetie’s arms after tottering to the nearby critter infested shower block for a wee. So Clyde could be forgiven for picking the one that looked almost exactly like the one he’d just left. And when, in the soft light of his phone, he glimpsed a tuft of red hair, he figured he’d correctly chosen the one Stensland was snuffling adorably in. He switched the light off so as not to disturb his sweetheart and snuggled back into his sleeping bag.

Matt hated getting up in the middle of the night. But when you had to go, you had to go. And he had to go. On his way back he realised without his glasses the tents in the campground were a series of coloured blurs. Instead he followed the man who’d come out of the loo ahead of him, and saw him check and enter a tent the same shape and colour as theirs. Using the process of elimination Mattie figured the identical tent right in front of him must contain his Techie. So in he went and snuggled back down.

The morning began as mornings should—with a happy moan from Clyde as he felt Stensland roll into him with a swish of soft nylon, sleeping bag rustling against sleeping bag. He hummed deep and low at drowsy-soft kisses, and cracked open an eye. The cloud golden-red hair he saw made him beam and he murmured a groggy, “Good morning,” against warm lips. Stensland stiffened against him (not in a good way) and pulled back with a gasp. 

Clyde blinked his eyes open to find that Stensland was not Stensland and he’d been sharing sleepy morning breath kisses in a tent with a stranger. A stranger who’s face ran through several emotions before settling on furious kitten. The man hissed. Actually hissed, and took a swipe at him. And as Clyde inched away as calmly as he could, a piercing shriek filled the air and then a plaintive call of, “Clyyyyyyyyde!”

A few metres away Stensland scrambled out of his tent after discovering the person he’d been sleep-humping was not Clyde but a very confused blond man who kept calling him baby. This sort of nonsense was why he insisted on staying home.

From a small but fierce ruckus in a nearby collapsed tent emerged Clyde, crawling on his elbows with his legs still trapped in a sleeping bag. Upon spying Stensland, he scrambled to his feet, kicked off the bag, and shuffled over to curl around him without a word, ducking his head against his chest. Beside them the frenzy of activity from the collapsed tent stopped and a very quiet voice began to cry, “Mattie, Mattie.”

“Where are you, baby? Keep talking I’ll find you.”

Stensland turned to see Matt squinting blindly about the campsite. He gently unwrapped Clyde’s arms—“You stay right there my pretty country dumpling”—to take Matt by the hand and lead him to Techie.

Very soon Stensland was wrapped around a ball of Clyde who had whispered in his ear to please get him his arm, and please hold him for a while, and please don’t let the hissing man eat all the sausages, please. 

Across the campfire they’d built for a shared breakfast, Matt crooned a soothing song while Techie held onto his neck like it was his lifeline, shooting occasional dagger eyes at Stensland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came from a wonderful conversation with dear Atlin and contains almost none of that wonderful conversation. I may try this again at a later date.


	23. Mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paterson/Thomas Mcgregor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by [Glass_Oceans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Oceans/pseuds/Glass_Oceans) from [this list](http://ohnoarno.tumblr.com/post/166059190317/its-been-raining-for-days-looks-like-the)
> 
> Rainy day prompts: “You’re going out? In this?”

Here are some things that Paterson loves about Thomas:

1\. He is kind. Sure he has issues, who doesn’t, but Thomas is sweet and caring, and above all he just wants to make others happy

2\. He is stubborn as a cat who knows their tongue won’t reach that last bit of cream at the bottom of the container but they’ll be darned if they’re not going to get their head stuck trying

3\. He is—and this is where Paterson’s knees threaten to give out if he thinks too hard about it—extremely flexible. There is no downside to this attribute as far as he can see

4\. When he sets his mind to something then, by hook or by crook, it will get done. Whether that something is a good idea or worth his time is a wholly separate matter

5\. He is ticklish, but more than that, he is sensitive and can be aroused by the gentlest waft of breath. This Paterson discovered thanks to his propensity for nuzzling in bed

6\. He has a temper but so far Paterson has avoided stoking it, so when it is aimed at something else it’s easy to love the ferocious puppy-ness of it all

That was until today. Paterson is still not clear on what he’d done but it might have been something to do with not hanging up the bathmat to dry. He’s sure the bathroom was involved somehow. Or maybe he’d tracked mud into the house. Whatever it was all he could do was stay as still as possible and watch Thomas huff and stomp toward the door.

“You’re going out? In this?”

 _This_ was a gale that was bending trees to frightening angles. _This_ was rain that was approaching the horizontal. _This_ was a sky green with the promise of hail.

Thomas ignored him. He yanked the door open in a storm of elbows and frowns, and disappeared into the soggy gloom.

The slam of the door left the house silent but for the storm outside and the tick of the clock on the mantle.

Paterson’s eyes settled on their coats, the umbrellas near the door. He knew where Thomas would be. Not even past the garden gate because he wasn’t utterly mad, but far enough to be out in the rain because he was utterly mad. He sighed a resigned but silent sigh and plucked an umbrella from the corner.

 

Here are some of the things that Thomas loves about Paterson:

1\. He has never once made him feel ignored or insignificant or unimportant. In Paterson’s eyes he matters and is appreciated

2\. He lets Thomas hold his hand whenever he likes. Better still, has an uncanny ability to know when he needs his hand held, or touched. It’s a simple thing, and it makes Thomas homesick for a home he never had

3\. On that note, Paterson knows him. He is his home

4\. He loves his silence and his words

5\. They may be close in height but he loves feeling like a wee fragile thing when Paterson sweeps him onto his lap and jigs him up and down

6\. He loves that his big spoon sometimes needs to be the little spoon and loves to be the big spoon for him. He loves that no matter that he sometimes feels so small, Paterson can always find a way to make him feel like a giant

 

The rain was already soaking to his pants when a loud fwoomp and a quiet curse from behind him made Thomas jump. He turned to see Paterson grappling with an inside-out umbrella before he unceremoniously let it fly off into the sunflowers.

He straightened himself, wiped his sopping hair from his eyes and stalked toward Thomas. Paterson does not stalk. He ambles. He strolls. He paces. But this, this was new. And it made Thomas’s belly fizz, and his chilled skin flush warm, and his mouth flood.

Why was he out here? He’d been angry. About... something? He couldn’t remember. Once a strong arm (just the one) wrapped around his waist and picked him up like he weighed nothing at all, what did anything else matter?

Paterson spun around, the wind whipping the rain into them. And as they twirled Thomas wrapped his arms about his neck and yelled into the night air, “Home, Jeeves!”


	24. Loose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stensland/Phillip Altman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by [Glass_Oceans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Oceans/pseuds/Glass_Oceans) from [this list](https://the-moon-dust-writings.tumblr.com/post/172400523523/writing-prompts%E2%80%9D%20rel=)
> 
> 2\. “Can you not loose this one?”

Stensland felt a tap on his thigh before the warm weight of a hand settled there. He glanced at the man beside him. Phillip something or other—his name badge was hidden on the other side—was nodding in interest at the presentation being given in the stuffy boardroom. His hand moved higher. 

Suppressing the urge to jump from his seat, Stensland looked down where Phillip’s hand sat across his thigh like a damn dinner plate, a small square of paper held between his knuckles.

Stensland looked up, feigning interest and unfolding the note under the table as silently as he could. He blinked at it, occasionally casting a glance at the enormous hand still sat on his leg, and askance at Phillip who was still making an excellent show of paying attention to the meeting.

He looked at the note again and gave a mental shrug. He had no idea why this stranger—who certainly looked like he had business attire down—was telling him to loosen his tie but it couldn’t hurt. He tugged at it until it sat loose around his neck, the way he used to wear it at school so the bullies would pass him by for the more rule abiding kids. 

A low hmmgh came from beside him and he cast a glance to see Phillip raise a confused eyebrow and remove his hand. Stensland answered with a confused frown.

 

“Nice tie.”  
Stensland coughed around a mouthful of dry biscuit—the best catering the company could do for a meeting break. Some garbled version of, “Huh?” left his mouth as he turned to gawp at Phillip.

“Your tie. I like it, it’s got,” he gestured double-handed like he was trying to grasp what it was he liked, “something.”

“Thanks,” Stensland beamed at him. “I found it at a thrift store and couldn’t resist.”

Phillip narrowed his eyes, a little smirk playing around his lips. “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong. Personally,” he held his hand to his heart, “I love it, but these guys.” He waved a hand at the stuffy businessmen chatting quietly around them. “I don’t know if they’d go for the whole weed-on-a-tie look.”

“Not even now it’s loose? I figured you were telling me to relax.”

It was now Phillip’s turn to gawp. “ _Lose._ Lose the tie,” Phillip said.

Stensland pouted and held a protective hand over his weed tie. “I think you might need some help with your spelling.”


	25. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by [Glass_Oceans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Oceans/pseuds/Glass_Oceans) from [this list](http://memesfrommenace.tumblr.com/post/132713434246/fluff-starters)
> 
> Fluff Starters - “I heard you talking in your sleep.” & Kylux

Hux woke in a sweat. His body roasting against the furnace of Kylo’s body, wrapped around him with his tree-trunk limbs. A tired groan and a roll of his head was all he could muster. “Geroffme.”

The revelation he was awake only served for Kylo to tighten his embrace and wriggle closer, nestling his face into a rat’s nest of red-golden hair. 

“Nnyygh.” Hux squirmed onto his back. “The hell are you doing? I’m burning up here.”

A sleepy smile danced at the corners of Kylo’s mouth. He propped himself up on his elbow and ran his other hand whisper-light up and down Hux’s chest. Short strokes growing lazier, and longer. 

“I heard you talking in your sleep.” His hand took a sojourn across delicate blushing pink collar bones before taking the long road down. Down through a trail of bright sentinels leading to a fiery blaze between Hux’s legs.

“Really?” Hux raised an eyebrow, his only concession to moving energetically. “What did I say?” 

“You woke me up,” Kylo whispered, his eyes soft but glinting. The tips of his fingers slinking along the still sleeping velvet of Hux’s cock before he cupped his hand around it. “You were begging me for it.”

Hux snorted and wriggled his shoulders. “Oh, please.”

“That’s exactly what you said. ‘Oh yes, Ren, Ren. Please, please Ren, fill me up, mate me.’ OW! Did you just pinch me?” Kylo squeezed his soft handful. 

“I’d never say such an undignified thing. In my sleep or otherwise.” Hux drew his knees up and let them fall apart, spreading his hips and rolling up into Kylo’s hold. “Is that all I allegedly said?”

“No.” Kylo pouted, though his thumb stroked back and forth as Hux’s skin tightened, growing hot and stiff. “You said a lot of things. Like, ‘It’s not the bread rolls you have to watch out for, it’s the baker with fifty mongooses.’”

“As if I’d say something so ridiculous,” Hux said. He closed his eyes again and took in the low rumble of the engines, of Kylo’s voice, the warm fingers exploring him. He cracked open one tired grey-green eye. “Anything else?”

Kylo sighed the sigh of the aggrieved. “You also said, ‘I love you, my darkling spawn of dread skies.’” After a silent minute he asked, quiet and hesitant, “Is that the sort of ridiculous thing you’d say?”

Hux lay very very still, and very very quiet. Until he reached down and placed his own hand over Kylo’s. “I suppose I may be persuaded to such niceties once in a while.”


	26. Shots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb Smith/Paul Sevier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by [Glass_Oceans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Oceans/pseuds/Glass_Oceans) from [this list](http://memesfrommenace.tumblr.com/post/132713434246/fluff-starters)
> 
> Fluff Starters - “How about a kiss?”& any pairing

_…and guest._

Small words but all Caleb saw was a world of anxiety leading up to this damned wedding. Old high school friends he hadn’t seen in years. He didn’t know these people anymore. He’d learned who his real friends were after the accident when not a single one of them visited. Nearly a year in hospital and even those he thought he was closest to stopped messaging after two months. This was why he avoided school reunions.

 

The day came and it was just as he’d dreaded. Questions about what he was doing these days, if he was married, had kids. And he got it, he really did. That was all ordinary people could think of. The Big Questions you ask someone you used to know.

It was easy enough to answer but the glaze over their eyes when he explained what he did for a living only fed his self-consciousness. And then the inevitable romantic status question which ended in several ways, the most common being an intense compulsion to introduce their cousin who was also single and well, _you two have so much in common, for instance you’re both single. So much to talk about._ Yeah. Or of course there was the choice between complete dismissal or a diatribe about married life and children complete with a hefty dose of condescension for someone who wouldn’t understand _until you have kids_.

His sixth shot at the bar was sinking in, making his head swim, reminding him he and liquor were not friends. He picked up a seventh when a hand stopped him midway to his mouth and took the shot glass away. He followed the hand up an arm in an ill fitting shirt to a face, serious and strange. Dark eyes studied him from behind glasses.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help noticing. I mean. What I mean to say is, you don’t seem to be enjoying these.” 

The man’s voice resonated so deep Caleb felt it in his own chest. He blinked stupidly, trying to remember how words worked. He managed a, “Do I know you?”

“I shouldn’t be here.” The corner of the man’s mouth lifted, almost imperceptibly. “I walked into the wrong room, I’m here for a conference. Course, there’s no free bar at the conference, so. This catering is sublime, I should add. My name’s Paul. Sevier.” He held his hand out.

 

And then there was the photographer, taking oh-so-quirky shots of the guests. She skipped up, somewhere between Paul gushing about analytics, and them slow dancing with their bodies pressed so close their breaths synchronised.

“Hey, boys. How ‘bout a kiss?” she chirped, her camera poised.

Caleb paused mid-AI rant before shaking his head and garbling out, “Oh, no. We’re not…” while Paul, who had caught up in shots, grinned and said, “Sure.”

It took a few seconds for Caleb’s CPU to process Paul’s lips on his, warm and soft. Damp with tequila and three shots of Buttery Nipple. It took several more to react, parting his lips for a tentative tongue. His hands fluttered indecisively until he curled one around Paul’s waist, feeling the size of him under that awful shirt. The other on the back of his neck, fingers sliding up through soft hair and grabbing a handful. 

Neither of them noticed the camera flashing or the photographer thanking them and leaving.

An unabashed moan rumbled through Paul as he tasted the cheap rum on Caleb’s lips. His hands clasped around his slight frame and he pulled him close.


	27. Pregananant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Could Kylo be pregonate? Can Kylo down a 20 inch pennis pegnat? What is the best time to sex Kylo to be come pregnart? Does anyone know how many Kylos get bregant a year??? Dangerops prangent sex? will it hurt baby top of his head?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EShUeudtaFg)

Kylo Ren was having a bad day. It wasn’t the idiot trooper who got in between his lightsaber and the holounit that had pissed him off. It wasn’t Hux’s insistence that he report to the medbay to apologise in person for the damage he did to three of their droids the week before.

No. It wasn’t any of those. It was a deep-seated all-consuming craving he had for ongwa berries when no ongwa berries were to be had without seeking them on the underground market. 

He clutched at his stomach, a snarl crawling from his lips as he… No. He spread his fingers and pressed into his belly. It couldn’t be. He reached out, pressing with his mind and felt it again. No. But yes. It was there, an energy with the potential of life. Weak, unformed. He reached out again. Fuck. He narrowed his eyes, breath whistling a furious tune in and out of his nostrils, and stalked off to find Hux.

 

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“The fuck you are.”

“The fuck I am indeed.”

“That’s not how it works. That’s not how… what are you talking about? You don’t even have the…” Hux glanced down at Kylo’s belly. He paused for a breath or two or three, then threw both hands in the air. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Never mind the details, I’m pregnant and it’s your fault.” 

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“You don’t remember? You said you were ‘pumping me full of your Hux spores’.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You said, ‘lay your spawn my pretty so I can the zygote the hell out of them.’”

“That’s not even… We were pretending!”

“You had to say it out loud didn’t you? ‘I’m going to fill you up ‘til my come is spilling from every orifice’, you said. ‘I’m going to fuck a baby into you, Kylo’, you said. Well, congratu-fucking-lations Captain Fertility.”

“Hey!” Hux shoved a pointy finger in Kylo’s face. “That’s _General_ Fertility to you.” He shook his head, as if he could throw the nonsense out. “I refuse to get on board with whatever ride you think you’re taking me on.”

“Oh, this is no ride.” Kylo grabbed Hux’s hand and held it flat on his belly. “But you better strap yourself in, daddy.”


	28. Hux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux. Hux Hux Hux Hux Hux. Hux, Hux Hux. Hux Hux? Hux.

Most of the time, mostly, Hux is a general. Generally as a general he is stern and fierce, fervent and severe.

Some of the time Hux is a lyrical (or so he thinks) lover. A sucker for romance and a stiffy for Kylo Ren. Be he covered in rose petals or covered in come. He who? Both.

And every pale purple moon, Hux is not Hux at all. Hux is Armitage. All long limbs and cheeky grin. All fluffy hair and erudite eyes. All coy and bewitching, childlike, charming. He giggles at the world, and hums Arkanian hymns. He puts his hands in his pockets and twists from side-to-side with a blush blooming while he beams at his beast who just called him a beauty.

And only ever, just this once, and never ever again, Hux is Kylo Ren. Curious to see himself through his pretty brute’s eyes. He’s quite ginger isn’t he? And my, is that a freckle? No, it seems not. And jeepers he never could get a good view of his own arse. Is it always that luscious? Maybe he should touch it. Yes, maybe he should…

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158402622@N05/42641715205/in/dateposted-public/)"


	29. Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sort of sequel? to chapter 27.
> 
> Hux has a dairylicious surprise for Kylo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Atlinmerrick and 221b_hound and allmannerofsomethings on the occasion of titty nubs (which 221b_hound gets all the awards for).

“Ren! _REN!_ Can you hear me?”

A crackle came through. Broken words floated through in a slurry of static.

“Stop farting around with the comms Kylo, you’re one deck below me. Get your delectable and very sorry arse here this instant.”

It was well past an instant that Kylo skulked into Hux’s quarters where the air fairly hummed with unsuppressed fury. His dearest lion kitten was in a Mood. The lights at 10% could’ve told him that if his Force senses didn’t.

“Hux? My sweet delight? My golden murder bunny?”

“In here,” Hux called from the ‘fresher.

Kylo tip-toed around Hux’s greatcoat lying in a crumpled heap. His heart leapt. Had anyone else dared to discard his coat like that Hux would have been crying treason. He picked it up, and draped it on the arm of the ice-blue sofa.  
He picked past shiny boots, skipped over an abandoned belt, so much narrower than his own. He bent to pick up the tunic and shirt to toss onto the bed and felt a sticky wetness on the fabric, on his hands. 

“Ew,” he murmured, ever the dainty one.

“Ren?”

He tossed the clothes back to the floor and hurried to the ‘fresher.

“Look at what you’ve done.” An utterly naked Hux stood still dripping wet though the water was off. He had both hands cupped beneath swollen breasts.

Kylo’s mouth flooded. His tongue was too big, was his tongue too big? Maybe his tongue was too big. And it was hot in here, wasn’t it? Hot! Like a devil’s arsehole, hot. Too hot.

“We’re not hunting for flies Kylo. Shut your mouth and explain yourself.”

“Shut it _and_ explain...”

“Just stop gawping! You know exactly what I mean. Now,” Hux squeezed himself, massaged at the new mounds of softness on his chest. Tiny beads of yellow white milk erupted, pooled with the water on his skin and ran down, “I ask once again, what the hell have you done?”

Kylo stepped in to the cubicle. “Hux,” he said awed and wide eyed, “you got titty nubs?”

He chased his finger up the milky rivulet running down Hux’s belly and brought it to his mouth. Letting his tongue fold around his finger, tasting a part of Hux he’d never tasted before.

The moans that came from both of them at once unbalanced them both.

“This isn’t supposed to happen,” Hux whispered breathlessly. He squeezed his breasts and gasped, “You’re the one who’s pregnant.”

“That wasn’t supposed to happen either. But clearly,” Kylo bent his knees, dipped down with his arms around Hux’s waist and lick lick licked around one of his peaked nipples, “your body wants to nourish your baby.” He puckered his mouth around the little nub, lifted his darling flaming terror off his feet, and suckled. His nose pressed in, deep breaths taking in the sweet-sour scent of Hux’s skin. Lips and tongue working the soft flesh, coaxing more and more.

Hux threw his head back, twining Kylo’s knotted tresses in his fingers, pulling him to his chest. “It’s,” he panted, “it’s not even born yet.” His hips gave tiny thrusts in Kylo’s tight embrace, seeking friction against the roughness of his tunic.

Kylo pulled off with a long wet suck. “Well then, I’ll make sure to pass it on.”


	30. Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super short bridge for the sprite of creativity and gentle yelling Atlin Merrick

Thomas McGregor has a thing for bridges, no matter how big or small. From the Vasco de Gama Bridge to the plank he popped over the muddy ditch beyond the garden wall.

He'd even made special trips, though he called them holidays and tried to kid himself that it was mere coincidence a bridge was opening. The Øresund was quickly followed by the Millau Bridge, the Samuel Beckett, the Queensferry. 

He longed to go further afield, to Russia, Hong Kong, Japan. Bigger, longer, more.

Where he did end up finding bigger (way bigger), longer (the longest he’d had, for sure), and more (of everything he ever thought it was possible for him to have) was over the canal on Westbourne Terrace on his way home from work, strolling through the back of Little Venice, enjoying the last of the afternoon sunshine.

“Excuse me? Hello? Hey, mister, can you tell me where I am?”

Is what Thomas would have heard had he not been wondering what it would be like to live on a canal boat, and how big it was on the inside, and could he actually fully stand in it, and what colour scheme would go best, and did he like pot plants on the bow or did he not?

But when his awareness returned from its idyllic getaway on the waterways to tell him he was being spoken to, he caught only a soft, "Alright, well. You have a great day."

In full city mode--from braving the crowded horrors--he'd have carried on walking but he was almost home and city-mode was giving way to I-wouldn't-mind-a-good-long-soak-in-the-tub-and-perhaps-a-good-long-wank-while-I'm-at-it mode. 

In short, something in that voice made him stop. Made him turn around to see. And oh, did he see, though his traitorous and horny mind was more concerned with what he couldn't see. Thick strong legs, a chest you could probably play squash off. Was that just the way those jeans sat or did this man dress to the left? One forearm like one of Thomas's thighs--big, strong, cheeky tattoo on the soft inner. The other elegant, matte, black, articulated fingers gingerly pinching a map between them. Face hidden by a mop of dark chocolate hair as the man tried to work out where he was.

If there was one thing Thomas loved it was being helpful, so he straightened his back, adjusted his tie and built himself a bridge.

"Can I help you, sir?"


	31. Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by [Glass_Oceans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Oceans/pseuds/Glass_Oceans) from [this list](http://memesfrommenace.tumblr.com/post/132713434246/fluff-starters)
> 
> Fluff Starters - “How about a kiss?”& any pairing

“Relax,” Phillip whispered behind Stensland’s ear. “Nobody’s looking at you, no one cares. We’re all friends here.”

“I don’t know any of these people.”

“You knoooooooow…” Phillip looked around desperately. “My cousin Seth! You’ve totally met him.”

“Of course! Your cousin Seth. The guy who dripped pizza juices all over my Dawson’s Creek tape. Episodes four to six of the third season, gone forever. Cousin Seth who burnt my shower curtain. What sort of monster smokes in the shower?! Cousin Seth who not only mooched on my couch for two months without asking but not once in all that time replaced the toilet paper he seemed to go through miles of in a sitting. Phew! Thank god Seth is here.”

“He asked me if he could mooch. I live there too.”

“Yeah, well. A house meeting about that sort of decision would’ve been in order.” 

“Jesus, Stensland. Could you at least pretend to have fun?”

“I thought I was.”

“Yeah, you look thrilled.”

“Don’t get snippy with me, I’m doing you a favour. You’re the giant liar who needed a date to his own brother’s wedding. You’re telling me not one of your ex booty calls wanted a free trip and five course dinner?”

Phillip swallowed back his answer of, _you were the only one cheap enough to say yes_. Stensland was right, he was a liar. “Is that the only reason you agreed?” he asked.

“Why else would I?”

Phillip shrugged. He looked away, staring over the heads bobbing on the dance floor. 

“Phillip? Why else would…”

“Philly!”

“Hey Uncle Vee.” Phillip enveloped a tiny baffled old man at his elbow in a gentle bear hug. “You having fun?”

“I’m taking pictures.” He showed them the enormous camera around his neck. It was big enough that Stensland shot out an arm, worried Uncle Vee would tip over.

“Is this your latest beau, Philly? Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Stensland bowed, straightened, and then wondered why the hell he’d just done that.

“You remind me of the only girl I ever fell in love with.”

“Oh!” Stensland plastered on a wavering smile. “Isn’t that lovely.”

“She was a knockout, flaming hair down to her ass.”

Stensland laughed the laugh of a man who did not want to laugh. “Phillip, what’s happening right now?”

“Let’s get a picture of you two love birds.”

Phillip wrapped his arm around Stensland’s waist and pulled him close. “Right here? Is this ok?”

“Are you asking me or him?” Stensland hissed out the side of his mouth.

“How about a kiss?” Uncle Vee flapped a liver-spotted hand in encouragement.

“Sure.”

“What?” is what Stensland tried to ask, but he found his progress blocked by the visitation of a pair of lips he’d been trying to stop dreaming about the last ten months. 

Those warm soft lips were pressed against his lips and he had no idea what to do with this information until those oft dreamt of lips left his lips cold and bereft in far too short a time. 

This prompted the realisation that the time of lip convergence was far more desirable than this lip segregation business. And so Stensland sought to rectify the situation by grabbing Phillip by his lapels and commencing the re-annexing of his mouth.

Neither of them heard Uncle Vee say, “How do you turn this damn thing on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I forgot I'd already filled this prompt. And somehow, I used pretty much the exact same premise. Go me!
> 
> Also, I'm never going to use this so before I delete it forever, here's what happened after Uncle Vee said the only woman he ever loved was a ginger. 
> 
>  
> 
> “I thought Aunt Maggie was a brunette.”
> 
> “She was.”
> 
> “So what happened?”
> 
> “When?”
> 
> “To the red-head.”
> 
> “She died.”
> 
> “This is like pulling teeth out of a stone without spilling blood. How did she die? Was it in the war.”
> 
> “What war?”
> 
> “I don’t know, one of the big ones.”
> 
> “Ain’t no war could’ve taken down my Hilda.”
> 
> “Then how…”
> 
> “She was trampled by a horse.”
> 
> “Jesus!”
> 
> “In the middle of a circus tent. She was on the high trapeze, missed a catch, fell without a net. She was fine, until the damn lippizaners stampeded thanks to the stable fire.”


	32. Bench

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by [Glass_Oceans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Oceans/pseuds/Glass_Oceans) from [this list](http://ebondeath.tumblr.com/post/111530323393/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short)
> 
> For the prompt "26. sitting on the same park bench au & kylux"

Like clockwork he was. Doing his stretches in those ridiculous shorts. Kylo saw everything. Ever-y-thing. At least the outline of everything. And then the guy would sit when he was done, on the same bench, every evening. Headphones in ears, legs wide open—begging to be tripped into face first, eyes staring straight ahead.

Kylo wanted to know what colour those eyes were. He also wanted to know what it would feel like, smell like if he did plant his face _right there_ , but he’d never so much as slowed down on his laps around the park. 

That was a lie. His feet told him so. Each time he came into view of the red-head his pace faltered but his heart rate carried on excitedly, as though it was anticipating something, anything. A shared look, a nod, a greeting. His chest constricted, bound with more pressure the closer he got, feet crunching on the pebbled dirt path. 

There was the inevitable hope-horror as he passed. Hoping the man would look up, notice him, admire him. Horrified the man would look up, notice him, say something forcing him to say something back. That wouldn’t do. He’d only embarrass himself.

The hope-horror gave way to relief-defeat as he trotted on. Relieved there’d been no horror, defeated by his own fear. Maybe on the next lap, he thought.

 

Like clockwork he was. Running past his bench like some sort of giant bison, leaving dust in his tracks on dry days, flicking muddy little splatters in the wet.

Hux hated exercising but the park at least afforded him a generous view. He got the worst over with before bison man came pounding down the path with his barge of a chest bouncing along with him. He shouldn’t have used the word ‘pounding’. Definitely the wrong word to think of when lycra was being worn.

He was always well into his warm-down stretches. He knew exactly how good his arse looked in these shorts and he’d be damned if all that exercise went to waste with no one to ogle the results. Forward bends and lunges for all to see. 

Some might say hot pink lycra to the knees was a brave choice but Hux knew exactly where that lycra clung and exactly how much better when there were no underpants involved in the equation.

But no matter how hard Hux tried, the damn man never stopped. So, defeated every night and muscles well warmed, he plonked down onto his favourite bench. He spread his legs wide to cool down, wiling away the time with some life-affirming podcasts, and ogling the bison man and every damn taut bounce of his tits, even if he didn’t have the decency to ogle him back.


	33. Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt is late to deliver and the lift delivers him a sweet ginger treat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atlin Merrick said, "Ask for prompts!"
> 
> And I said, "Gimme a prompt."
> 
> And Atlin Merrick said, "What do you want to write?"
> 
> And I said, "I dunno, Techie with really long hair?"
> 
> And Atlin Merrick said, "K. Put them in a lift together. Have Matt say, 'Miss, hold the door!' Hijinks ensue."
> 
> And I said, "K. Here you go."

Late late late late. They’d never give him a good review now. The food on Matt’s back was halfway to cold and the terse message after his apologies about traffic and the rain and his bike’s flat tyre held no reassurance he’d be forgiven. Businesses at lunch time were the worst.

And there it was. He squeezed into the rotating door of the building with his boxy backpack and slip-slid into the foyer. The sound of a ding led him around the corner just as a tall slim figure with a cascade of long flaming hair brushing against hips disappeared into one of the lifts.

“Miss!” Matt ran as the door began to close. “Miss, could you hold the elevator, please!”

He got to it as the doors shut to. Out of breath he bent over, resting his hands on his knees. The lift doors clunked open again. Matt staggered in and puffed out a, “Thank you… sir,” just before his voice gave out all together.

“Actually,” the beautiful creature in front of him tucked a long lock behind their ear and nibbled at their lip, “it’s neither.”

“I’m…” Matt’s voice cracked, he shook his head. 

“You get a pass, just for today,” they blinked wide blue eyes at Matt and with a blush creeping up their neck to the pale skin beneath the beginnings of a red-gold beard, they bowed their head and grinned at the floor.

Matt’s body had been leaning forward like a flower seeking the sun. He straightened himself before he toppled right onto the pretty red-head and opened his mouth to say something. He decided it was best not to do that when he had no idea what to say, closed his mouth, opened it again, closed it again, opened it and blurted, “I’mgoingtothesixteenthfloor.”

“You’re our lunch?”

The Matt who lived outside his body would have been furiously waving his arms back and forth for attention and screaming at himself to not say what he was about to say. But since he did not know what he was about to say until after he’d said it and out-of-body Matt didn’t exist to forewarn him, he said it anyway. 

“You can have me for lunch any day.” And then he groaned because there was no out-of-body Matt to stop him doing that either.

They were now both a delightful shade of crimson, one of them clashing with their own burning river of hair.

“I’ll make sure I’m the one to rate you. And if my awful boss has already done it I can change it. I’m the techie around here.” 

Matt wrung his hands. It was all he could do not to reach out, wanting to know if that hair was as soft as it looked. “You haven’t pressed a floor yet.” His voice was on the embarrassing side of too wobbly and his chest felt like it was buried under an elephant. “I’m super late, and the food is cold, and I’m probably never gonna get another call out and…”

Two strong hands settled on his shoulders. He hadn’t noticed he’d closed his eyes until he opened them again and stared straight into the worried face of his companion.

“Breathe. Nice and slow.”

Matt watched their lips as they spoke. No one had a right to have lips like that. He wanted to lick the light blonde bristle ring haloing that plush mouth amidst a sea of ginger scruff.

“Why don’t you give me your pack and go.” They bounced a little on their toes. “Come pick it up later, five o’clock. I’ll be so thirsty, you’ll have to take me out and quench me.”

Matt choked back a cough and swung his pack off, handing it over. He nodded mutely.

The techie flashed him a toothy smile, ran feather light fingertips beneath his name tag and pressed the button to open the doors. “Don’t be late, Matt.”


	34. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillip donates blood. Gareth... helps?

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Nmmyea.”

“You want more juice?”

“Mmnuh-uh.”

“Do you want to sit up?”

“Mmmnnnn.”

Gareth stroked his thumb up and down between Phillip’s eyebrows.

“You did really well. The nurse said you made it right to the end before you fainted. And most people don’t even _give_ blood.” Gareth kissed him on the nose. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Dint like the tube. Blood tube. Blood in the tube.” Phillip flopped his head slowly side to side. “Nope.”

A quiet moan—somewhere between an aww and an ooh and a mmm which is generally where a moan sits on the noise spectrum but we’ve digressed—trickled out of Gareth as he draped his arms over Phillip in the best approximation of a hug one can manage to give someone lying on a hospital examination bed in all its beige glory.

“You always seemed fine with my blood,” Gareth mouthed onto Phillip’s collarbone.

“Hafta be wake ta-take care a-you.”

There was no more squeeze hugging to be done with floppy arms and beige vinyl body benches so Gareth did what was right and natural and climbed all the way up on top of Phillip.

A sickly burp and Phillip groaned as Gareth swung his legs up to settle between his, “Firefly. Baby. Feel sick. Too much.”

Without pausing Gareth said, “‘Kay,” and kept on climbing over. An arm unhooked, a leg flopping over the side until with an aborted screech and a clatter of metal and a thump on the floor, he’d slipped off the bed.

“Ow.”

Phillip shot up. “Firefly?” He gripped the sides of the bed until his vision stopped swimming and he could look down without blacking out again. “You okay?”

A tiny puff of air that was not quite a sob came from Gareth as he looked up at Phillip from the floor. His legs splayed wide, his eyes welling under his veil of hair, and what Phillip knew as Emergency Pout 5.2.

“It’s so sore.” He raised his arm and pointed at the blood dripping from his elbow.

Phillip swung his legs over the bed and jumped down, all wooziness gone. He scrambled together some gauze from the doctor’s bench, pressed it to Gareth’s elbow. “Stay right there, baby.” He kissed the top of his head and strode out of the room to find a nurse. “I’m on it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been hiding a wee bit much away. I be slowly not away more muchly much longer.


	35. Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clydeland
> 
> Stens loses a bet, there are lacy consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by [Glass_Oceans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Oceans/pseuds/Glass_Oceans) from EN's nsfw starters: 
> 
> 17\. Stop grumbling. You lost the bet. & 44\. Lingerie/costumes & dealer's choice

The globes of Stensland’s arse were not gracile little mounds. They were full and lush and capable of unknown delights. They were also constantly swallowing the dainty lace trim of the baby blue panties Clyde had presented to him on the occasion of The Bet.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with your hips, sweet potato. They’re beautiful hips. My favourite hips. Perfect hips for my perfect man.”

Stensland grumbled and picked out his frilly wedgie. “You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend and our willies cuddle all the time.” He bent in half to peer at his own hips upside down. “Look how wide they are.”

“I can’t tell you what you should see, I’m only telling you what _I_ see, and that is perfection.”

Stensland pfffffted like a champion involving multiple chins and Olympic level eye rolling.

Clyde ambled over. Anyone else would have put on a predatory prowl. Not Clyde. He looked like a man who had spotted an abandoned ice-cream that needed urgent licking before it went to waste. 

“See, like this little bit here.” He ran his hand down Stensland’s waist, over the tiny bump to his hips and grabbed hold giving him a shake. “There’s just enough there for a nice juicy mouthful.”

“Stop it,” Stens giggled, wriggling away ticklish. “What about this bit?” He poked at his belly.

“That’s my favourite bit too.” Clyde licked his lips and poked a cool carbon fibre finger at Stensland’s belly button.

“And this bit?” Stensland slapped his arse.

“All the bits, I love them all. But you lost the bet, honey pie. You promised.” 

“Okay, okay, fine. Let me get the rest on.”

He waddled off, hitching his knickers up. He emerged again with a matching pale blue camisole—his tiny nipples peeking over the top, dainty slippers with pom poms, and a gauzy feather trimmed capelet.

“That is my boyfriend!” Clyde whooped and wolf-whistled. 

Stens shuffled his feet and gave Clyde a shy smile from beneath his floppy fringe.

“Are you sure this is going to be okay? Pretty sure my balls are planning a daring escape.”

“It’ll be fine, baby.”

The doorbell rang. 

“This can’t be the best way to make a first impression on your family.”

“It sure isn’t, but a bets a bet. And believe me, the Logan family believes in people keepin’ their word more than first impressions.”

Clyde grabbed the door handle and turned back over his shoulder. “Besides, once they’re gone, I’m tearing everything you’re wearing off you with my teeth.”


	36. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb & Paterson
> 
> A brief encounter on a rainy day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by [Glass_Oceans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Oceans/pseuds/Glass_Oceans) from [this list](http://ohnoarno.tumblr.com/post/166059190317/its-been-raining-for-days-looks-like-the)
> 
> Rainy day prompts “Sorry to intrude. This rain came out of nowhere.”

“Sorry to intrude. This rain came out of nowhere.”

The glare Caleb had darted toward the gazebo entrance softened as he took in the tall bedraggled figure wiping his soaked face with one hand. In the other he held an old lunch box. To Caleb’s eyes he looked like a giant holding a tiny suitcase.

“No I. Please.” Caleb gestured at the empty benches lining the small round space. He had the small panic of not wishing to sound like a magnanimous overlord who really did think he was entitled to this public space in a public park. And in a rain storm no less. He was overthinking it. The guy was only being polite. Caleb couldn’t help it if his face froze in a glare a few seconds too long because the blue collar version of a soaking wet Mr Darcy had suddenly materialised out of nowhere.

By the time Caleb and his face had settled back to something slightly less awkward, Mr Not-Darcy had settled himself at Caleb’s 2 o’clock and begun to eat his lunch.

“So,” Caleb began, “you from around here?” Nice. Mundane. Safe. He could totally do this talking to strangers thing.

Mr Not-Darcy swallowed around a chunk of his sandwich and coughed. “Mhm,” he nodded.

Caleb nodded back. Rain spattered in waves, the wind blowing it against the windows. Mr Not-Darcy went back to his sandwich. Caleb chewed on his lip and stared intently at his green sneakers to stop himself staring intently at the man’s shoulders in order to stop thinking about what kind of body hung under shoulders like that.

“And you?”

Caleb glanced over. Not-Darcy had spoken.

“Are you from around here?”

“Me? No.” Caleb gave him an uncertain smile, like it was ludicrous to think the man’s attention could be for him. “No, I’m… no. Bridgewater. I went for a drive. I’m practicing. Driving.”

“You don’t know how to drive?”

“Yeah, I can. I just, I don’t like small spaces but I have to drive so, practice.”

Mr Not-Darcy nodded again. He snapped his lunch box shut, wiped crumbs from his pants.

“You’re going?” Oh, had that come out wrong. He may as well have cried _don’t go_ and clung to the man’s leg. Because that is what complete strangers in parks do.

“Yeah, I’ve got to get back to work.” Not-Darcy stood. “If you ever need the bus, look out for the 23. It’s a whole lot roomier than a car.” He stopped at the gazebo door, gazing out at the rain a few seconds. He turned his head. “It was nice to meet you…?”

“Caleb.”

“Caleb,” Not-Darcy nodded with a wide close-lipped smile. “I’m Paterson,” he said, stepping out into the downpour.

“Paterson,” Caleb’s voice came out in a whisper. He tucked his knees under his chin and watched Paterson disappear into the misty air.


	37. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wee Armie trips over wee Ben.

The station was thronging with life forms but that didn't stop little Ben plonking his little butt right in the middle of the concourse. The crowd flowed around him, paying no attention to the tiny padawan with the red-rimmed eyes and the wet cheeks. One second he had hold of Uncle Luke's hand and the next he was being jostled from all sides by strangers. So he did what he'd always been told to do if he got lost--stay in one place.

Ben had never been good at listening. 

Thirty seconds--forever in Ben Time--had gone by and no one had come looking for him. Time to go looking them. He pushed himself up to his feet, took a deep breath and peered around with his wide warm eyes. All he could see were knees and chins and nostrils of all sizes. He parked himself down again with a defeated whimper and hiccuped around his thumb.

Not one person stopped in their hustle until Ben heard a sharp yelp and found his lap full of creature. This creature made of ginger hair and sprawled limbs unfolded into a boy not much older than Ben. A boy whose pale face was quickly growing red. The corners of his mouth pulled down in a dramatic moue before his entire face scrunched and he began to wail to the heavens. 

Ben blinky-blinked at this new adventure. Now this he could remedy easy as Pikatta pie. He wriggled to his knees and flung his arms around the boy's delicate shoulders.

"Don't cwy. It'oo be okay." He held on while the boy bawled like a wounded Bantha. "Awe you wost too? I can't find my uncoo."

The boy shuddered as his cries subsided. "Mama," he whimpered, and then let out a high pitched wail. 

Ben winced. He stuck a finger in his ear against the onslaught and kept his other arm around the boy's tiny shoulders.

"Don't cwy," he said again. "We'oo find yaw mama _and_ my uncoo Wuke. Come on." Ben stood and tugged the boy's elbow. "Wet's go wook."

The boy quieted, swiped at his face with his forearms and smeared a sheen of runny snot across his cheek. He grumbled pouting to his feet, took Ben's hand and waited for further instruction. 

"I'm Ben."

The boy chewed on his fingers. "I'm Armie," he dribbled around them.

"Ben!"   
"Armitage!"

At the sound of his name, the tiny red-headed boy pulled his hand from Ben's and bolted toward the woman who had called for him.

"Ben!" Uncle Luke strode toward him. "What have I told you about getting lost?" He took Ben's hand and led him away. 

Ben craned his neck to see where his new friend had gone, only to find Armie doing the same.


	38. Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techie blooms in the sun

Scruffy.  
Wild.   
Stunning.   
Sun-fairy.

Those were the words roiling around Matt’s head as he lay in the shade propped up by his elbows, legs crossed, and his hands in the lush grass.

Those were the words that came to him as he watched Techie gambol about in a lush purple meadow, near 11 months out from his last planet leave.

In the confines of space Techie had to find his own suns. Matt was his biggest and brightest and warmest sun, the sun Techie would be glad to revolve around forever plus a while. 

There were the solar flares that radiated from Matt. An in season shuura in his lunch, a little poem in his pocket, his uniform pressed and laundered, which smelled lovely but was not something he bothered to do himself.

The other suns were the little ones Techie made or found for himself. The small menagerie he’d collected of injured and orphaned beasties, his little copper sculptures, the half remembered lullabies he would hum to himself making up the words as he went, dancing down the dreary corridors at the end of a shift, back to his Mattie and back to their bed.

But this here, this was where Techie flourished like the wild sunflower he was. Stuck in the dark for so long, for so much of his life, the sudden freedom to run about and soak in the wild, in the light, it was near too much. Like too much caf or sugar after having none, Techie had gone slightly mad. A beautiful excited happy sort of mad but ever so slightly frightening all the same.

Matt watched his fire-fox run and leap, the golden down on his long bare legs caught the light, his pale blue sarong streamed behind him. He whooped and cackled with his arms in the air. He jumped and cartwheeled like a wobbly foal. Though since he had not bothered to wear anything beneath the sarong, Matt thought that his cartwheels were not so terrible after all. In fact they were the best cartwheels he’d ever seen and his raucous applause begged Techie for more. 

In the middle of a joyful bound, Techie hopped into a crouch and studied the ground. He cocked his head side to side, tried to coax something in the long grass onto his hand until he was bowled over backwards by a blur of wings shooting up and past him, away into the sky.

Techie cackled on his back and kicked his legs in the air. When he settled them back down he fell quiet. All Matt could hear, from a little way away, were Techie’s settling breaths as he rested. And then, so hushed he might have missed it, a little hum. Quiet again, while Matt held his own breath. And again a hummm. Longer this time. And another right after, and another.

And now, well, Matt had to find out what his flame-haired flame was up to, though he had a good idea. He rolled onto his belly and wriggle-crawled out to Techie, following those delectable sounds coming from deep within his baby. As he got closer he could hear more. A shifting sliding slapping. And he knew exactly what that was too.

Matt rose up out of the grass and looked down at his beautiful boy laid out like a feast. Techie’s shirt was rucked up to his ribs, his sarong had long since come undone. And while one hand busied itself on his very pink and happy cock, the other was being chewed upon while his eyes were closed against the sun.

As Matt’s shadow fell across his face he squinted one eye open and scratched at the scruff on his jaw like an itchy puppy.

“Mattie, my arm is tired.” Techie dropped both hands to his sides, rolled over to his hands and knees and dropped his chest to the ground. “Can you help me?” He jiggled his arse in the sunshine.

Mattie could, oh, he could help. Yes. Yes, he could. He was all about the helping. He unbuckled and unzipped and undid Techie in only a few short thrusts.

“Keep… going… Mattie,” Techie huffed out on each slam of Matt’s hips. “All… this… sun,” he puffed. “Let’s… plant… your… seeds…”

And right there in that sunny meadow, Mattie planted his seeds deep inside his scruffy, wild, stunning, sun-fairy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dear fren  
> It has been a good long while  
> Yes I am still here


	39. Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stens really loves Dawson's Creek. Clyde too. But also Dawson's Creek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the year of our Lord Domhnut, 2018, to avoid terrible losses in the Great Tumblr Catastrophe I have recovered some prompt fills that I'd completely forgotten about and am placing them here, in the sanctuary of the mighty Archive. 
> 
> Here be-eth the firste. Possibly my first Kyluxy drabble. Before Notebook was a thing. Oooooh
> 
>  
> 
> I was dared to drabble by @atlinmerrick about Stens and Clyde waxing lyrical about their favourite teen dramas. It took a different turn…

“No peeking.” Clyde herded a grinning Stensland with gentle prods in the right direction. “Okay stop. Open your eyes.”

Stensland stopped.

Stensland opened his eyes.

Stensland drew in a sharp breath and slapped his hand over his mouth. He turned back to Clyde in tears.

“Happy 20thanniversary honey. Go on now, before that cake catches alight.”

Stensland tottered toward the slab of butter cream-covered cake and blew the twenty candles out in only six tries. Today was a special day _. Dawson’s Creek–20 Years_.

“It’s beautiful.” Stensland spun around and threw his arms around Clyde’s neck, peppering kisses on all his favourite moles. “Thank you!”

Clyde peeled himself out of Stensland’s embrace, his face flushing the prettiest shade of pink. He reached for the small gift box on the table and handed it over. “There’s one more thing.”

“What’s this?” Stensland rattled it next to his ear. 

“Don’t go shaking it.”

Stensland bounced on the balls of his feet and started unwrapping the first layer. A small card sat on top. Written on it in Clyde’s handwriting was,

_I don’t want to wait for our lives to be over_

Stensland gave a small delighted scream. He unwrapped the next layer. There was another card.

_I want to know right now what will it be_

While Clyde worried at his lip with his heart going a million miles, Stensland cackled, still not quite getting it. The next layer revealed another card.

_I don’t want to wait for our lives to be over_

Stensland beamed at Clyde. “I’ll be singing this all day now.”

Clyde couldn’t deny his need to nip at Stensland’s lips. It gave his own lips a well needed break from his teeth. “You sing it all the time anyway. Keep going.”

Stensland ripped off the last layer. The last card fell off a small velvet box and onto the floor.

“Ooh, what’s in the box?”

Stensland opened it at the same moment that Clyde yelled, “Wait!” and dropped to his knees to pick up the card.

He looked up to see Stensland gaping back and forth between him on his knees and at the silver band studded in tiny emeralds.

Clyde tucked his hair behind his ear and held up the last card with a hopeful look.

_Will it be yes or will it be sorry?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For anyone who has never seen Dawson’s Creek no, Crash Pad could not afford the actual theme.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ug1aqGUTiuk)


	40. How

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux is stuck in a sticky situation. Kylo helps/does not help?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by glass-oceans asking:  
> Kylux + “If I give it a good tug under-hand, I can do it.”pls :)

Kylo’s mouth was going through a small period of upheaval. Hux watched as those deep red lips twisted and stretched, grimaced and pursed, before they settled into the shapes required for Kylo to say, “But… how?”

“Let’s not focus on the hows and the whys and the whatnots right now. Just help me. Please.”

“Yeah…” Kylo tilted his head one way. “…yeah.” He tilted it the other. He squatted and squinted, took a deep breath. “Okay.” He took another breath and blinked up at Hux. “But how?”

“Now’s not the time.” Hux let go a whine and clenched his fists.

Kylo’s hands ventured toward Hux’s trousers and wriggled the fabric a little lower. “The fuuuuuck Hux?” He whispered under his breath. 

“Well?” 

“I think maybe,” Kylo ran his finger around the delicate skin of what could still be seen of Hux’s Little General where it disappeared up the spout of the caf dispenser. “Maybe if I give it a good tug, I can do it.”

“No! Absolutely not. No tugging. Don’t tug. This situation does not call for tugging of any kind.”

“A gentle tug.” Kylo demonstrated on the firey fuzz on Hux’s balls.

“Ow!”

“Really?”

Hux thought a moment. “No. Alright, that was fine. Just, gently. Please.”

So Kylo tugged as gently as he could, which still turned out not to be gentle enough.

And while the Little General was rescued from its disturbing and unexplained sojourn up the caf spout, it did not escape without a few sore spots and scratches. The Little General had to be kissed and caressed and fondled until there was a rosy red glow back on its cheeks… erm… face… erm… head? Whatever.

Like the good boy he was, Kylo took his nursing duties to heart and laved the Little General every day with his tongue until it was all better. And for his big general, a brand new caf dispenser and no questions.


	41. Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux bakes a soul-flavoured cake for his dearest soul mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glass-oceans asked:  
> 14 (For the prompt “Souls don’t taste like that.”) + kylux pls

“Hux.” Kylo let the enormous bite of cake he’d taken plop out of his mouth in one whole unchewed gobbet. “Baby. Darling. Sweet brimstone and fire angel. Souls don’t taste like that.”

The mighty general in his peaky cap and his pointy shoulders bristled to attention. 

“Ren, I’ve performed extensive research on these ‘souls’ as you call them and I can assure you this is precisely what they—if indeed they even exist—would taste like.”

“Salt.” Kylo scraped at his tongue, gagging. “And why’s it so bitter?”

Hux shrugged, “You said everyone has a soul within them. I simply had our best chemists determine the flavour molecules of several components found within the body.”

The wideness of Kylo’s eyes at that point were only matched by his own chest.

“And of course,” Hux continued, “my own personal experience with the flavour of substances excreted from your body and my own informed my decisions when choosing from the array of flavours presented to me.” He clicked his heels together.

After several moments of silence and intense blinking, Kylo stood and turned toward the fresher. “Imma brush my teeth now.”

The puffed up kitten that was one General Hux of the First Order deflated. “You don’t want to blow out the candle?”

“I need to floss. And gargle for a thousand years.” Kylo disappeared into the fresher and closed the door behind him.

“Okay.” Hux called back. “That’s fine. It’s fine. We’ll have it later. Love you, my knight of darkness and murder.” He blew the candle out and whispered, “Happy birthday.”


	42. Cowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to get the stains out of a cowl. Ask the General.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glass-oceans asked:  
> “In my defense, you did say by any means necessary.” + kylux

Armitage Hux may not be at one with the force but he can read a movement, a look, a tone of voice. And right now he could hear footsteps striding toward his office that said, in no unclear terms, _Hux, you little shit._

His door opened. Technically a pneumatic door should not be able to convey anger but it did. It did.

“What the actual kriffing fuck is this?”

Hux kept his eyes glued to his holopad. Who knew the quarterly window cleaning report could be so fascinating.

“Hux? Hello?”

“Ah, Supreme Leader.” He looked up. “This is a pleasant surprise. Is there something you wanted?”

“Don’t Supreme Leader me.” Kylo shook his ragged old cowl. “Explain.”

“Do forgive me, is there an honorific the Supreme Leader would prefer? 

“This is not about work.”

Hux looked about him in surprise. “Gosh. This certainly looks like my office and, oh,”—he did a double take at his holopad—“I appear to be on duty and working.”

“Are you done?”

“I’m afraid I’m very busy.”

“No, I meant…” Kylo sighed the sigh of the attempting-not-to-be-murderous. He shook out his cowl. “Why does this look like it’s been chewed on by moon moths?”

Hux looked at the cowl. He glanced up at Kylo, looked at the cowl and repeated this until he was sure Kylo would choke him if he did it again.

“Oh dear. That is a shame isn’t it.” He tutted and shook his head, employing Level 10 puppy eyes.

“I said get the stains out Hux, not destroy my favourite cape.”

“It’s a cowl.”

“It’s a cape.”

“In my defence, you did say by any means necessary.”

“You cut the stains out?”

“I removed them. By any means necessary.” He raised his chin in challenge. “Now if you don’t mind I’m very busy, _Supreme Leader_.”

Kylo dropped the holey cowl and shook a furious finger at Hux. “Don’t think this won’t go unpunished.”

“I look forward to it.”

Kylo blinked, shook his head. “No. No, don’t look forward to it.”

Hux tipped his head and tapped at his lip. “Hmm. You know, I think I will though.” He returned his attention to his holopad.

Kylo shuffled on his feet. “You’re gonna get it.”

“Can’t wait.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“I… you…” Kylo let go a strangled growl. He stamped his foot and stalked back out.

Armitage Hux may not be at one with the force but he did know he was going to be a very lucky general tonight, and a very sore one in the morning.


	43. Roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux and Kylo are trapped on a roof. Whatever will they do for warmth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glass-oceans asked:  
> 101 kinks - trapped together & any pairing

The bang startled Kylo as he was zipping his trousers back up. Hux was in the middle of lighting his cigarette. Both of them looked back to the roof door.

“You did remember to stick the tape over the lock, didn’t you?” Hux said, flicking his lighter.

Kylo said nothing, one hand on his waistband the other still holding his zipper, his eyes somewhere on the horizon.

Hux took a long drag and stretched his back. “Ren? You did remember. Didn’t you?” His dropped his arms to his side and straightened.

“Fuck.” Kylo whispered.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said,”—Kylo turned to Hux—“fuck.”

The cigarette abandoned, Hux dashed toward the door. He smacked into it in his haste and fell on his arse with a whoomph. A stab of pain shot up his back.

“Careful.” Kylo stepped over him and tried the handle. He rattled it. Shook it. Kicked the door, punched the door. Screamed, shouted. Rattled the handle again, then proceeded to insult the door, the lock, its maker and his own damn foolishness.

“Well isn’t this just dandy,” said Hux still sprawled on the ground panting.

Kylo started head butting the door.

“Oh, yes. That’s bound to do it.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Not trying to.” Hux groaned his way to sitting, pulled out another cigarette and leaned back against the door. “Everyone’s gone home, there’s no point yelling. 

“Maybe if you weren’t always horny at 4:45 on the dot.”

“Yes, please. Do try to pin this on my libido as if you were complaining ten minutes ago.”

Kylo flumped down next to Hux. He took the proffered cigarette. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Hux leant his head on Kylo’s shoulder. “You know, it’s going to get quite chilly tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yep. We may have to take precautions.”

“Do tell.” Kylo rested his head on Hux’s.

“I’m afraid,”—Hux tugged at Kylo’s sleeve—“I’ll have to set up residence in your trousers. I’m very delicate you see. Prone to chills.”

“You don’t say.” Kylo curled his arm around Hux’s narrow shoulders and pulled him closer. “So, what you’re saying is…”

“That’s right.” Hux fluttered his eyelashes and pouted. “We’re going to have to huddle for warmth.”

 


	44. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux reveals his secret self to Kylo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glass-oceans asked:  
> “Does it bother you that you can’t see me? Good. You’ll never know what’s coming.” + any pairing

“It’s just… I’ve never been able to be myself. What I’ve always wanted to be. And now—“ Hux checked Kylo’s blindfold and ran the back of his fingers down his face. “—with you, I can reveal who I truly am.”

Kylo’s breath came faster and faster with the inching of Hux’s fingers down his neck, his chest.

“Does it bother you that you can’t see me?”

Kylo bit his lip. Nodded.

“Good.” Hux leant down. He brushed his lips against the shell of Kylo’s ear and whispered, “You’ll never know what’s coming.”

He kissed Kylo’s chin and ran his thumb in a hard slide along his bottom lip.

“Stay right there.”

Kylo shuffled on his bottom, listening to the sounds of sliding and rustling and huffing. In the darkness under his blindfold it felt like he waited aeons. Until, finally.

“Okay.” A deep breath. “I’m ready. You can look.”

Kylo ripped off the blindfold. The grin on his face dropped as he jolted back in his chair.

“What the kriffing fucking arse bollocking fuckety kriffing fuck, Hux?”

Hux shuffled on his feet and smoothed down the white satin of his Pierrot, bumping over the black pom-poms.

He peered at Kylo from beneath his bright worried eyebrows. “You… you don’t like it?” He wavered. Looked away and back, away again. “I’ll, I’ll take it off. Never mind. Just forget about this..”

He felt Kylo’s fingers close around his wrist. They were followed by arms closing around his body and lips closing on his.

“This is a surprise. That’s all.” Kylo squeezed one of the pom-poms. “If this is who you are then I love it.”

He pressed a kiss to Hux’s lips—once, twice.

“Just… maybe don’t sneak up on me in the dark. Like ever.”


	45. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux is a rude boy and allergic to being nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glass-oceans asked:  
> protective sentence starters: “Do you trust me?” & Kylux :P

The escape pod creaked in its tentative balance in the tree canopy. The split in its hull yawned at the forest floor far below.

“Now what?” Hux was dangling upside-down over the enormous drop, saved only by the vice-like grip of his thighs around Kylo’s waist.

“I’m thinking.”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

“You know, out of the two of us I’m the one most likely to be able to get us out of here.” Kylo looked around for anything that might help them. A rope, anything. 

“So?” Hux made an aborted attempt to reach for the edge of the pod’s torn side.

“So, you might want to try being a little nice.”

“Darling, you know I break out in hives when I’m being…”—Hux gagged—“… _nice_.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Not in the slightest you great hulking ape.”

“Well then you’re really not going to like this.” Kylo grabbed the general by the ankles.

“Not going to like whaaAAAAAA…” Hux screamed. He was flicked away from the pod, held in mid-air by the force. When he realized he wasn’t falling he stopped flailing his arms and croaked out, “I swear I will do everything in my power to make your life a living hell.”

He dropped a swift ten feet.

“But my sweet ginger strumpet, you already do.”

“Yes. Well.” Hux looked down and then snapped his head back up, glaring at Kylo. “Would you put me down?” He gritted his teeth. “Please.”

“Huh?” Kylo cupped a gloved hand around his ear. “What was that?”

“Are those two satellite dishes either side of your head faulty? I said _please_.” 

He dropped another ten feet, yelping like someone who was falling from a great height. It was all very appropriate to the situation.

“That wasn’t very nice, Hux.”

“I told you. Hives.”

“What if I promise to rub ointment nice and slow over every inch of your skin?”

Hux pondered his situation a moment and looked down again at the ground far below. It did not take him long to decide. 

“Oh, Supreme Leader. You gorgeous raven-haired godling of enormous chests and eight-packs… oh no, they’re happening already.” He scratched at his belly. “Please, please, pretty please save me, you delicious mountainous beast.”

“There’s my boy.” Kylo stretched his lotion-rubbing fingers and lowered his itchy fire-kitten gently to the ground.


	46. Unclothed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paterson loves waking up to a naked Thomas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glass-oceans asked:  
> Fluff Starters - “If you steal the blankets, I am going to put my cold feet on you.” & any pairing

So here’s the thing about Thomas McGregor. A glimpse of bare shoulder in the morning is a rare and glorious thing. Even at the height of summer Thomas is not a man to go without pyjamas. What if someone important were to pop by unannounced? 

And so on the rare occasions Paterson wakes up to those pale creamy nubbins in all their naked glory he takes full advantage. 

He runs his fingers—light as kitten breath—along smooth pale skin, tracing long long limbs at rest, and sucks gentle and open mouthed on those delectable shoulders. The ones he has tried to write poems about but is never happy with. One day, he tells himself, he’ll get it right.

And on the mornings can’t reach skin, he mouths through soft cotton instead. Because Paterson is Thomas’s alarm clock now. Precise, reliable, efficient. Paterson is a touchstone of calm, quiet stability and routine in an otherwise chaotic world that holds no respect for order and cleanliness! Ahem. But we digress.

Thomas’s shoulders are made of double cream and caster sugar and fluffy clouds. They don’t taste like that of course, this is the real world. His shoulders do taste a little bit nothingy, a little bit buttery, a little bit salty. It all depends on what he’s been up to the night before. And it’s on the mornings Paterson finds him still bare from head to toe that he tastes the saltiest. 

As he plants soft kisses on every vertebral bump down Thomas’s long white back, Thomas wriggles. 

“Tickles,” he says sleepily, his face mashed into his pillow.

While he has the chance to see The Arse with the morning sun slinking gently through the window, Paterson crawls down and pulls aside the bedclothes.

“If you steal the blankets I’m going to put my cold feet on you,” comes a mumble from Thomas.

Paterson nuzzles and nips. He hums then rests his hand and his head on his favourite bouncy pillow. He draws the blankets back over them both and tucks those icy feet between his warm thighs.


	47. Devious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techie takes wily advantage of his brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glass-oceans asked:  
> 101 kinks - break up/make up & techienician (because I am that evil)

“I can’t bear it, Armi.” Techie gulped for air and heaved a sob into Hux’s chest, leaving dark wet splodges on his pressed shirt. “I feel like I’m falling apart piece by piece. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.”

Hux slid one hand after the other down Techie’s hair, his neck, his back. A loop of comfort and love. “Here’s what’s going to happen, my darling. You’re to take an entire month off from your duties.”

Techie raised his face in question, his chin poking his brother’s ribs.

“I won’t brook any arguments, Ani. A month off, no less. Somewhere nice.”

Techie wiped at his nose with the hem of his sleeve. “A.. all on my own?”

Hux cupped Techie’s face in both hands. “He wasn’t worthy Ani, do you hear me? You’re better off without him.” He folded Techie back into a hug and continued stroking his back. 

“A month. The most luxurious quarters money and my say-so can buy. I’ll book it double, you can take a friend. An officer maybe. Mitaka. He’s a bit wet but he’s not a complete fool. Not like that ridiculous lug who had the damn nerve to break it off with you, much as it delights me. I don’t want to see you unhappy.”

Techie rolled his eyes and buried his face in Hux’s neck. “A…and a..a p…private shuttle? We might like to get around?”

“Of course. Excellent thinking, my darling.”

Techie grinned behind Hux’s shoulder and sniffled though some hiccups for good measure. “I’m a little low on credits.”

“I’ll make sure you’re topped up to bursting. Enough for two.”

Techie sniffed and squeezed Hux’s shoulders. “Armi?”

“Yes, my love?”

Techie drew back from their embrace and shifted his face into hard steel. “I want you to give Mattie a whole month off too.”

Hux narrowed his eyes, he shook his head. “May I ask why?”

Techie drew in a deep breath through his nose and puffed up his thin little chest.   
“So he has nothing to distract him from thinking about me.”   
He pursed his lips.   
“Having fun.“   
He tipped his chin up.   
“Without him!”

Hux’s eyes narrowed further while Techie kept his gaze steady and hard. Finally Hux raised an eyebrow and his mouth stretched into a proud grin.

“My word, that is truly dastardly Ani. I couldn’t be prouder.”

Glowing with happiness, Techie threw his arms around Hux again. 

“You’re the best brother in the whole world Armi.”

 

“Well?” Matt stood the moment Techie came through their door with a floppy dejected stoop.

“Well,” Techie sighed.

Matt shrugged. “It was worth a try, baby. At least you—OOPH!”  
He was stopped short by a leaping Techie who was now wrapped around him like a monkey and peppering kisses down his jaw and neck. 

“It worked Mattie. He totally bought it.”

“No way!” Matt brought his hands under Techie’s arse for support.

“Yes!” Techie bounced in Matt’s arms.

“Baby, your brother might be pretty but he’s a few capacitors short of a circuit.”

“Yesssss!” Techie squealed, throwing his head back and cackling like a maniac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I should explain, Ani is my name for Techie in the world where he’s Hux’s brother. Ani is short for Anseld which comes from Old English meaning solitary dwelling—hermitage—Armitage. See what I did there]


	48. Lactose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glass-oceans asked:  
> 32\. Forbidden love + Techienician

“Don’t do it, baby.”

Techie pouted. He refused to look Matt in the eye, choosing instead to focus his whirring irises on the table in front of him.

“Cream puff, are you even listening to me?”

Techie sniffed. He wiped his sleeve-covered fist under his nose and pouted some more.

“Baby, you know you can’t do this anymore. You know what’ll happen.”

Techie’s bottom lip began to tremble.

“I… It kills me to see you hurting.”

By the nail scraping back and forth along the edge of the table Matt could tell. Techie was fidgeting himself to resolution.

“Please, baby, for me. Please don’t do this.”

Techie raised his chin, his eyes finally meeting Matt’s. “I love you Mattie. You know that, right? It’s just… there’s one thing, one, that I love more.”

“Please…” Matt whispered.

Techie picked up his spoon.

“No.”

He scooped up a mound of ice-cream, eyes never leaving Matt’s.

“Please, baby.”

Techie licked his dry lips and held them open, his tongue waiting. He brought the spoon up, fed it into his mouth, wrapped his lips around it. His eyes fluttered closed and a visceral deep moan of pleasure hummed through him as he drew the spoon out. He tipped his head back and licked his lips, the red fall of his loose hair almost reaching the floor now. He moaned again.

Matt watched the long white column of his neck ripple as he swallowed the creamy sweetness down.

Techie moaned one last long, “Ohhh, Mattie,” to the ceiling above and brought his hands to his belly.

“Already baby?” Matt crouched down by the side of the chair and covered Techie’s bony knee with his hand.

“It’s so good Mattie.” Techie lolled his head along the back of the chair. “It’s so good. I love it.”

“I know you do baby but…”

He was interrupted by another moan from Techie. It was the moan Matt had come to recognize as the ever so complicated I regret everything, I regret nothing moan.

“Stop me, Mattie.” Techie grasped at his belly with one hand and brought another spoonful of ice-cream to his mouth. “Hurts so good,” he garbled around the cold cream filling his mouth.

The bite marks on his hand from the last time he’d tried to stop Techie were still healing. But Matt was determined to help his boy, always, so he snuck his hand tentatively toward the bowl. It was snatched away, a growling snarl transforming Techie’s sweet face.

“Okay, okay,” Matt held his hands up.

Techie hissed. “Mine.”

“I know baby, I know. How about I get you a nice cosy hot pack for the aftermath instead.”

Techie narrowed his eyes and grunted before his face slowly calmed into a smile. “’Kay, Mattie,” he said, and kept shoveling the sweet, sweet icy joy into his mouth.


	49. Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux and Kylo reunite after a fake death and the birth of their child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a_secret_scribbler. This is yours.

“Look, Millie, look. Dada’s home.”

Hux bounced on the balls of his feet as he cradled their child. Only a tuft of red-gold hair peeked out from the sling around his chest.

“And he wasn’t joking. He’s still flying around in that rusty old skip,” he muttered, pressing his lips to Millie’s head and inhaling the scent of her. “We’ll have to do something about that.”

The Millennium Falcon touched down on the rocky shore of Temple Island. The same spot it had landed ten months ago. The same spot it took off from ten months ago leaving behind a stoic ex-general who broke down in tears on perhaps only two thirds of the nights he spent alone with their child quickening inside him. Cradling his growing belly as he sang old Arkanian hymns and told tales of his and Dada’s adventures.

Of the places Ben could have chosen to hide him, Ahch-To was the last planet anyone would look. Not that anyone would be looking for a dead man. Ben had killed Kylo Ren. He was the newest darling of the Resistance, and he made damn sure there were plenty of witnesses when he killed his great enemy as well, General Hux of The First Order.

Ten months. Ten months of Ben’s voice floating through his head like whispers of static. Ten months of butterfly brushes on his skin. He got louder over time, stronger with practice. But it was never enough.

Hux’s stomach churned. He scratched at his beard, brushed back his windswept locks. The Falcon’s landing ramp opened.

“I should’ve shaved, Millie. What will Dada think of me?” He brushed his hair back again, nerves setting him a-sweat. 

A pair of black boots began their descent down the ramp. Hux bit his lip and forgot what breathing was when his eyes set upon the face he hadn’t seen for far too long. The face that was looking at him, at Millie. That was now covered by hands and doubled over. 

Hux gulped down the sob rising in his throat. He stepped forward, crunching on the dark pebbles, one, two. 

Ben straightened. A smile that could incinerate planets lit his face and he fell into a run, arms ready to meet his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been reading my silly little nuggets. Thank you to those who comment, you make my days happy ones.  
> This might be the last Notebook story as I’d like to start collecting these drabbles by pairings so they’re easier to find. Though the occasional ridiculously rare pair might warrant another chapter here if it’s likely to be a one off.


End file.
